Fallen Blossoms
by Mikomi3
Summary: Years later, Shinomori Aoshi returns to the home he could not leave behind...and the woman he could never forget. Alternate Universe.
1. Unexpected Guests

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Fallen Blossoms

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Part I ~ Ghosts of Fallen Blossoms

Chapter 1 ~ Unexpected Guests

The taxi rushed through Georgetown, its bright lights and crowded streets a blur through the windows. The girl in the backseat looked out anxiously at the passing scenery, one foot tapping impatiently while struggling to remain composed. She did not want to hurry the driver; after all, it was her own fault that she was late. But…

_Jiya is going to be furious!_ thought Makimachi Misao. She leaned forward in her seat, and said as calmly and courteously as possible, "Please, could you go a little faster? I'm very late and," she added with a soft laugh, "in a lot of trouble."

Very few people could resist Makimachi Misao when she chose to be persuasive. The driver was not one of them; charmed by her sweet request, he nodded once and stepped harder on the gas pedal. "No problem miss. I'll get you there as soon as I can."

"Thank you," she breathed gratefully, relaxing slightly in her seat. Jiya _was_ going to be angry that she was late, especially for the opening of his new restaurant, but it was nothing that a kiss ~ and a hug ~ couldn't fix…although she still winced from thinking of his famously fierce bear hugs. She laughed again to herself at the thought of Jiya running a restaurant. The former director of the District of Columbia's martial arts school, the revered kempo master and guardian of the sole heir to the Makimachi family legacy, the darling of the D.C. social scene…and now a restaurateur in a chef's apron? Of course, Okina's star had faded since his adopted granddaughter had come of age, but still…one expected him to be sipping champagne and charming pretty women, not managing a business. But when the old man set his mind to something, he usually accomplished it, and quite successfully. Tonight was his opening night, and he was hosting a glittering soiree with all of Washington's high society in attendance. He would not want Misao to be late.

She sighed, anxious once more. Jiya was the closest person to her in the world. She would not want to ever upset or worry him.

"Here we are, miss!" the driver called cheerfully. The taxi had come to a stop, and a handsomely dressed man had already come forward to open the door. Misao hurriedly paid ~ adding a big tip which brought a smile to the driver's face ~ and stepped out. The restaurant was in the heart of D.C., and tonight it blazed with glittering lights and was garlanded with crimson ribbons. The building itself was built in the traditional Japanese style, and thus beribboned resembled a perfect doll-house she had seen and much admired as a child. A large sign hung above the door, on which was written with bold calligraphic strokes on a gold-flecked background "The Aoiya." Okina had once told her that an ancestor of his from the Meiji era had operated a restaurant of the same name, and proceeded to boast of its having the reputation of being the best in all of Kyoto. She had not paid him much attention then, the words Meiji and Kyoto sounding strange and unfamiliar on her tongue, a part of a long-forgotten Japanese heritage that she was just now beginning to fully appreciate. Tonight, the restaurant looked lovely and inviting. Her eyes shining and wide with wonder, she smiled at what would obviously become another of Jiya's many triumphs here in D.C.

The man who opened the door for her was just as delighted, but he was not thinking about the restaurant. Instead he gazed admiringly at the gorgeous creature for whom he had the honor of welcoming.

She was a slender, virginal young thing. One slim leg, slightly tanned a golden-brown, had stepped out from the car when the door opened and revealed shapely calves and dainty crystal-clad feet. She wore a smooth, flowing gown of shining white silk, bias-cut and hugging just the right places. The dress was held in place with thin silk ties fastened behind her throat, and no jewelry marred the exquisite swan's neck with its alluring dip in the center of her collarbone. Her shoulders were bare against the cool March wind, but she seemed not to notice and stood straight and walked gracefully. Her dark hair was pulled back into an elegant chignon, with silk and crystal flowers entwined in its shining masses. Bright blue eyes shone from a small, delicate face. She inclined her head towards the porter and murmured a word of thanks, then rushed away into the restaurant. Feeling immediately bereft, the man stared breathlessly after her and cleanly forgot about the next car.

Completely oblivious as always to the reactions she elicited, Misao hurried through the doors into the wide foyer to look for her old caretaker and adopted grandfather. The foyer opened into a grand hall, which had been cleared to become a ballroom for the night. It was artfully decorated with garlands of fresh flowers and silk ribbon, and the champagne glasses glittered brightly in the light of the crystal chandeliers. The restaurant may have looked Japanese from the outside, but here within it certainly catered to Western tastes. Finally, she spotted Okina, laughing and chatting up a group of very pleased ladies. _Still the same Jiya_, she thought ruefully. _Always going after the girls_. He seemed to have felt her glance upon him, for he suddenly turned and looked straight in her direction. Ashamed of her tardiness, Misao was almost afraid to meet his gaze, but she saw only joyful recognition as he bounded excitedly towards her like a little boy.

"My pretty Misao!" he yelled happily, making her blush as guests turned to look her way. "You're finally here!" In a moment she was grasped in his embrace. "I'm so glad you could make it," he said loudly, before his grip tightened into a familiar bear hug. "And," he added quietly with a low chuckle, "customarily making your big entrance."

Misao struggled vainly against his vice-like grip. "Jiya!" she managed to gasp. "Breathing is becoming difficult!" 

He finally let go, a mischievous grin on his face. "That should teach you never to be late again."

"I'm sorry, truly. I was caught up in a case and…" 

"Don't tell me about it," he interrupted, with a dismissive wave. "For one night forget you're a workaholic and have some fun."

"I will," she answered gratefully. She glanced around at the laughing, happily flushed crowd. "Your party is a success, Jiya ~ everyone loves the restaurant. And it's gorgeous," this time looking at the vaulted ceiling and gleaming wood paneling. She leaned forward impulsively to kiss him on the cheek. "I'm so proud of you."

He smiled sheepishly. "Well…it did take a lot of work, and most of the credit goes to the architect. He was the one who suggested the Japanese style building and Western interior…" he trailed off, then exclaimed abruptly, "Well! Here are some more guests to be greeted! Arigatou for the champagne flutes, my dear. I would never have remembered to buy them for the party. Now, go on and have fun! Maybe you'll finally meet your future husband!"

"_Jiya_!" she exclaimed, exasperated. "Stop playing matchmaker and let me enjoy myself in peace!" She turned away, and called breezily over her shoulder, "Enjoy the rest of the night!"

He grinned gamely at her until she disappeared into the crowd. _What must the boys all be thinking nowadays_, he thought with possessive pride, _to let a beauty like that stay free and unattached?_ Misao had always been independent, but still…she was stunning enough to stop a man dead in his tracks. Through the years she'd had very few boyfriends, and lately whoever dared to venture into her personal life had been snubbed immediately and mercilessly. She was as warm and loving as always toward her family and close friends, but in the romance department, she had acquired the reputation of being icy and unapproachable. Okina shook his head in confusion ~ his pretty little Misao had used to be friendly and enthusiastic towards anyone and everyone, but now, ever since…his smile disappeared, replaced by a look of worry and concern. She would find out soon that he was here tonight, that indeed, he had been the ambitious and talented young architect who designed the Aoiya. Did he know that she would be here as well? It would be their first meeting in many years. She had never spoken of him after he had left…and he'd requested that Okina keep his identity a secret as well. But soon, eventually, they would meet again.

Makimachi Misao…and Shinomori Aoshi.

[Standard disclaimers apply. I do not own any of the characters.]


	2. Across a Crowded Room

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Chapter 2 ~ Across a Crowded Room

The restaurant was going to be a success, he thought with satisfaction, looking at the happy and well-fed party guests while feigning polite attention towards the man who was talking to him. The design had worked, and the sweetness of that triumph was made more complete by the thought of repaying his old tutor for all those years of kindness and charity. It was Okina who had taken him in as a boy, who had trained him to become a master of martial arts, who had taught him to use the twin kodachi of his ancestors; Okina who had instilled in him the determination to work towards a better future when his past had seemed so bleak. Shinomori Aoshi never forgot the kindness of others, and never failed to repay a debt. When Okina had approached him with the idea of building a Japanese-style restaurant, he had agreed readily and refused any form of payment. It was a duty, he had assured the protesting man, the duty of a son towards his father. Unable and unwilling to argue against that, Okina had finally relented. He really did see Okina as the father he never knew, who had given him the happiest years of his life, and…

His mind protested the thought, but his heart whispered it for him. _…And Misao_, it told him impishly, and if Aoshi could have scowled it back into obedience, as he could with so many others, he would have.

"Shinomori-san?" the businessman, who had been informing him of a prospective new project, asked apprehensively. Shinomori Aoshi was not a man to disrespect, even if it was obvious that his mind had wandered off during their very important conversation. He waited nervously until the taller man lost his far-away gaze and turned his attention back to the present. "Ah…Shinomori-san," he cleared his throat, "as I was saying…"

_Focus_. Aoshi forced himself to listen to the short, stuttering Japanese man. Despite his unimposing appearance, the man represented a large Tokyo-based firm with interests in opening a D.C. branch. It was a significant deal, and hotly contested by top architects from all over the country. Of course ~ and here he smiled, almost imperceptibly, almost smugly ~ he was the favored one. He had done very well over the years as an architect, building and expanding his own firm from the ground up. Now one of the most favored designers in the country, Aoshi had grown from a penniless young orphan to occupying the top of the most eligible bachelor list. Women seemed to flock to him endlessly, although he made it a rule not to let any one of them have a permanent place in his life. He lived in a huge, empty apartment of his own design, filled with the hard edges and crystalline structures he so favored in his work. Any girl who had ever stood there in its cold empty space had shivered unconsciously at its total lack of warmth and life. And none of them could ever provide that for Aoshi, not after…

_No._ He pushed the thought away. Not now. He couldn't think of her now. It had been too long ago, and he had been a completely different person then. _Besides, she's probably already forgotten about me._

It was at that moment that he saw her.

Misao tried to stifle a yawn, impeccable manners unwilling to allow her any expression of boredom. Although outwardly she tried to appear interested, her thoughts had already turned elsewhere. Their conversation was so boring, filled with so much lawyer-talk that she found it hard to believe she shared their same profession. Although she was every bit as driven and dedicated, Misao liked to believe that she was…_different_, that she cared for more than legal terms and rich clients. Her work at the orphanage was an example, and she would have liked to do more ~ if only she had more time. Her recent promotion to partner ~ with only two years' experience, she had set a much-envied record ~ didn't help matters much. It seemed as if she always had a million things to do at once. Still…she sighed, softly and inaudibly. Life seemed frighteningly empty. Her "successful" career, pretty outfits, and lofty penthouse at the Ritz Carlton had all lost the rosy glow of childhood fantasy. She wondered briefly how achieving her ambitions could leave her still so unsatisfied, how life had lost the "coloring of romance" it once wore. For she _had_ been different. She had been happy, once. But she had lost all that, after…after…

"_Misao!_" a familiar voice cried. She turned and was immediately enveloped in a laughing, silken embrace. Through her surprise she recognized long dark hair and bright blue eyes. 

"Kaoru!" she replied just as joyfully, returning the hug. Although the older girl was only a distant cousin, the two had grown up together in D.C. and been fast friends. 

"Misao, how have you been? No, _where _have you been? I've been trying to reach you for ages and it's always your answering machine…" her voice took on a teasing tone, as she nudged her cousin playfully. "Don't tell me you've met someone special and not even bothered to tell me! And here we've been," she added, pulling her handsome, red-headed husband close, "worried sick about you!"

Himura Kenshin smiled warmly at his cousin-in-law, noting immediately the faint sadness masked behind the shining eyes. "It's good to see you again, Misao." He put an arm affectionately around his wife. "Kaoru has been longing to talk to you."

Misao beamed lovingly at the couple ~ she loved seeing Kenshin and Kaoru together. They had met eight years ago, when Kenshin was still a new instructor at Okina's martial arts school, and fallen for each other immediately. Of course, being quiet and shy, Kenshin took a while before openly expressing his feelings, but anyone could see that they were meant for each other. They had been married for more than five years now, but they still had the glow of happy newlyweds. She smiled and forgot her earlier melancholy; seeing them always seemed to make her happy.

"Kaoru, of course I haven't met anyone!" she leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially. "I've gotten the reputation of being quite the ice princess around here."

"Not that you don't deserve it, with the way you treat some of those poor, earnest guys!" Kaoru returned. "Anyway, you won't believe who we just saw tonight. Guess who decided to show up at last after all these years?"

Misao felt the color drain from her face. Something about Kaoru's tone…and those thoughts that had been plaguing her lately…Please, she prayed silently. Don't let it be him.

Kenshin tried to warn his wife, but he was too late. He knew very little of Shinomori Aoshi, the latter having left a few weeks before his own arrival, but he was perceptive, and had felt the quietly disturbed atmosphere of the dojo that had lingered for months after Aoshi's departure. No one had addressed the matter directly, and neither Misao nor Okina ever ventured any details, but Kenshin could feel that this was a very delicate matter at hand. 

"It was _Aoshi_!" Kaoru exclaimed happily, oblivious to the suddenly charged atmosphere around her. "I was so excited, and you were the first person I thought of, Misao! You must be so glad to finally be able to see him again! Why Misao…" she had suddenly noticed her cousin's pale face and frightened eyes. "What's wrong?"

Without another word, she fled. Away from Kenshin and Kaoru, willing herself to disappear into the crowd. She couldn't face him again ~ could never face him again! Suddenly, she froze, her progress halted abruptly by a familiar sensation. 

He was _here_. Watching her. And this time, she could not escape.


	3. Reunion

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Chapter 3 ~ Reunion

She was radiant. He watched her, laughing and chatting with the Himuras, noting the faint flush on her cheeks as they teased her and the secret longing in her eyes as she watched them. She seemed at once different and the same. She was no longer the audacious and lively seventeen-year-old he had left behind, her subtle movements belying the inner grace and calm she had gained with the years. Yet her eyes were as fathomlessly blue and her face as beguilingly innocent as ever ~ features that age could never take away, that he had committed to memory a thousand times over. Seeing her now made all the old anguish and longing come rushing back, emotions that had been dulled, but never fully erased, by the time of their separation. He wondered if they would ever truly leave him alone.

He saw her suddenly stiffen at Kaoru's news. _So, she knows._ They would have to face each other tonight. He closed his eyes in bitterness. She would not love him again, as she once did. What kind of reunion would they have when she showed no joy on her face?

_Where could he be? _Her eyes scanned the room, searching for a sign of his tall, broad-shouldered silhouette. "Ah, Aoshi," she sighed quietly to herself. "You are too good at hiding in the shadows." He was still watching her, she knew. How strange and unforgiving, that she could still be so sensitive to his presence, could still feel her pulse quickening at the thought of seeing him again, when he had entirely ceased to care for her. Once more, she felt the familiar dull ache of loneliness and loss.

She felt a hand upon her shoulder, and started to turn around. 

"Misao," Shinomori Aoshi said softly.

The ache blossomed into pain.

They stood there, looking at each other, lost in their own world in the midst of the surrounding revelry. 

He was magnificent, she thought. If he had been handsome before, he was breathtaking now. He stood a full head taller than most other people in the room, dressed in a skillfully cut tuxedo that emphasized his strong form. His hair shone darkly, falling into his eyes in that careless way she remembered so well. His eyes, a clear blue, looked straight into her own.

"Misao," Aoshi said again, enjoying the feel of her name upon his lips. 

She gave herself a mental shake, and took control of her raging emotions. Outwardly, she looked as calm and distant as ever. 

"Aoshi." She smiled slightly and extended her hand, with the superficial air of one meeting an old acquaintance. "It's good to see you again."

He took it. "As to you." There was such a wide chasm between them ~ it was as if they had never met, never known each other, never loved. "How have you been?"

She felt a ridiculous desire to scream. _How have you been?_ Is that what he had to ask her, after all those years? But her face, once so powerless to hide her emotions, betrayed none of her inner turmoil.

"I'm well, thank you." She pulled away from his ~ very warm ~ grasp, afraid of what might happen if she let her hand rest there any further. "Congratulations on the architects' medal. I've heard some great things about your work."

His gaze upon her was very intense. "As to you," he repeated. "You've made wonderful progress, so I've heard, making partner at a record age and upsetting all those entrenched bores of the legal world." His eyes softened, and he smiled. "Okina must be very proud of you."

So this was how he would play the game. Despite her nervousness, Misao relaxed slightly. He was going to be the big brother again, the old comrade from her childhood. This would be easier than coldness and silence, and he must have known. She wondered at his smile, at how easily it reached his eyes now…then realized with a pang of envy that someone other than she must have taught him to do that. _Don't go there, Misao. Focus on the present_.

She returned the smile, a genuine one this time, as a pink flush spread becomingly over her cheeks. "You know Jiya. He's always so boastful, and he likes to exaggerate _everything_." She laughed, and her eyes sparkled. "If his stories were true, then I would be president already, not just partner at some law firm…the most successful female on the planet, as he would call me."

Her smile still took his breath away. Yet he was more touched by the modesty and affection behind her words. He opened his mouth to reply, but they were suddenly interrupted by someone calling his name. Someone annoyingly loud.

"_Aoshi_! There you are! Where did you disappear off to? You abandoned me with such _bores_!" The woman sprang upon his arm and clutched it tightly. She lifted up to give Aoshi a quick kiss, but stopped when she saw the cold warning in his eyes. It was then that she became aware of Misao's presence. "Oh _hi_!" she exclaimed, in a high, sugary voice. "I'm sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Megumi." She glanced at Misao, then shifted her adoring gaze to Aoshi. "Do you two know each other?"

Ignoring the quick stab of pain in her chest, Misao drew away from the couple, an icy lawyer once more. So he did have someone in his life. She had to admit that this Megumi was very beautiful, noting with a pang the other woman's tall, graceful figure and long, silky black hair. _She looks like she just stepped out of a magazine_. Of course Aoshi should be in love with her. And she had hoped…had hoped that they could start over again. Misao laughed bitterly at her own foolishness. _What made you believe that he could love you when he's already left you once?_

Aoshi watched her distance herself, helpless to cross that widening chasm and furious at Megumi's bad timing. _Yameru!_ his mind called. _You don't understand!_ But it was already too late.

"Yes," he replied to Megumi, unable to hide the disappointment from his voice. "We were childhood friends."

"Oh! How sweet!" she exclaimed, then turned on him reproachfully. "How come you never told me about her, darling?"

Misao flinched at the simple endearment. _She_ should have been the one to say it! It was her right, her privilege…her loss. Unable to bear it any longer, she mumbled a vague excuse and took herself away.

Aoshi watched her leave, watched her nod wordlessly to the first young man who approached her for a dance, his fingers suddenly itching for his kodachi. 

"Misao…"


	4. One Dance

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Chapter 4 ~ One Dance

She was numb. Not knowing who she danced with, unaware of anything except the flashes of pain that blinded her to her surroundings, she whirled in the melee of dancers and watched the world pass by in a blur. In her mind's eye she saw Aoshi dancing with Megumi, the beautiful girl pressing herself close to his strength and wrapped tightly in his arms. Even in imagination she dared not see his face. Her unknown partner, still dazed that the Ice Princess had said yes to his request for a dance, did not notice that he held only her body, that her soul had retreated to some inner citadel and locked itself away. 

But Aoshi noticed. Watching her dance with her umpteenth partner that night, he fought to restrain a wave of fury, frustration, and…jealousy? _No_. He could not face so many revelations in one night. Megumi meant nothing to him, he suddenly realized, with a slight pang of guilt. Here he was, dancing with her, yet his mind was a million miles away. He had always known, though ~ none of the girls he had ever been with had ever affected him in any significant way; they were trivial, superficial intruders, forever incapable of reaching him. He had shut himself away a long time ago.

_Yet Misao_…Aoshi shook his head, as if to clear it of unwanted thoughts. Later. He would deal with those truths later. For now, all he wanted was for them to reconcile, for her to look at him and smile as she had so long ago when they were both children and both innocent. He could_ not_ bear to have her missing from his life anymore.

His jaw set in determination, Aoshi left the protesting Megumi and made his way across the room. _Whatever it takes,_ he told himself grimly. _She will speak to me again._

At the other side of the glittering ballroom, Misao struggled to hold back the growing lump in her throat. The room suddenly felt very stifling to her, its bright lights and gay chatter oppressive and mocking of her misery. She longed to escape, yet she could not afford to let Jiya down. If only she could get out for a while…

The balcony! She had forgotten all about the spacious stone terrace that Jiya had had built opening onto the interior court of the restaurant. He had bragged to her endlessly about the fusion of Eastern and Western styles and traditions, the balcony being one of the Western elements cleverly enclosed by the Japanese facade. Desperate for release, she bid a hurried goodbye to her partner and fled to its open freedom.

"Ah…" she breathed deeply the cool, fresh air, sweetened by the fragrance of Okina's garden. She studied its meticulous walkways, shaded enclaves, and the magnificent weeping cherry, blushing prettily in full bloom. She had always loved cherry blossoms, and the weeping cherry in particular had drawn her child's fancy, beckoning her to hide behind its pink curtain of bloom. She had often asked Jiya why it seemed so sad yet so beautiful at the same time. Looking at it now, standing so proudly yet sorrowfully at the center of the garden, Misao was reminded of a Chinese story she had read a long time ago. It told of a young maiden whose heart was so broken that she buried the fallen blossoms and mourned their death as the death of her love. Misao shivered, feeling chilled to the core. She could not let herself become like that…could she?

Gentle hands slid a warm jacket around her shoulders. Without turning around, she knew he was there. For a bittersweet moment, she allowed herself to sink into its warmth…his warmth. But the next instant she was drawing away, taking off the offending garment and handing it back to its owner.

"Thank you," she said icily. "But I'm not cold."

His stomach clenched painfully at her abrupt refusal, but knowing her stubbornness and pride, he retrieved his jacket. She was obviously cold, trembling in spite of her clenched fists and set jaw. Or perhaps, it was not the chill that affected her. His heart filled with a wild, irrepressible hope. He would not give up yet ~ he was just as stubborn.

"Misao." He could not resist saying her name again. "Misao, we need to talk."

"I don't see anything we need to discuss, Aoshi. It seems we are both happy with our lives and have no need for each other." Her tone was colder than the March wind.

"That's a lie." His eyes flashed with something akin to anger; she, so unaccustomed to seeing emotions on his face, widened her eyes in surprise.

"That's right, Misao. I _can_ feel." His voice was rough, almost desperate. "You and I both know that for the past eight years, we have been miserable without each other. Don't deny yourself the truth."

She was dangerously calm, allowing only a hint of barely restrained fury to filter through. "I don't deny myself the truth, Aoshi, or have you forgotten it yourself? _You_ were the one who left _me_. _I_ had to pick up the pieces after you were gone. Do you know how I felt then? Do you know how I tried to look for you? Do you know how I l—…" She stopped herself mid-sentence, eyes blazing in anger.

At that moment, Okina chose to interrupt them. "Ah! So I see you've found each other." He chuckled nervously when he saw their grim faces, feeling the unbearable tension between the silent pair. "Uh…well…come on inside!" he forced out cheerfully. "I have to introduce you to everyone!"

Both groaned inwardly. Okina was _not_ one to be subtle. Yet they were loathe to refuse, both owing more to this endearing old man than to any other person in their lives. Obediently, though reluctantly, they followed him into the ballroom.

"Ahem…_Hello everyone_!" Standing on the makeshift stage in the center of the room, Okina loudly announced their presence. The revelers immediately shifted their attention to the three figures, some gasping in surprise at the sight of the dark-haired young man and the beautiful girl… together. Although they themselves did not realize it, Aoshi and Misao made a stunning pair.

"I hope everyone is enjoying themselves!" Okina laughed in delight at the rising cheer from the crowd. "But before I let you return to your party, I must introduce you to two very special people ~ so special, in fact, that they are almost like children to me!" Aoshi and Misao turned embarrassingly red at this comment. "Of course," Okina continued on, "many of you have probably heard of them, they being _very successful people_." He puffed out his chest in pride. "But," he faltered for a moment, then drove on with a sheepish smile. "I will introduce them anyway…_And_, they will have the first dance!"

With a mischievous grin, Okina signaled to an awaiting string quartet. "Waltz, please," he commanded, ignoring the icy glares of his beloved "children." With a flourish, he announced, "I present to you…Shinomori Aoshi and Makimachi Misao!"

Again, they could not refuse. With dull eyes and an icy detachment, Misao turned to Aoshi and offered her hand. He took it, placing his other hand around her slim waist. Mind reeling from the quick turn of events, he was half furious at Okina for putting them on the spot like this. The other half of him, however, was thanking his lucky stars. 

They danced mechanically, without any emotion, although their outward movements betrayed no trace of their mutual avoidance and displayed only grace and finesse. Their audience was _very_ impressed, and Misao realized with a sinking heart that their picture and story would appear in every gossip column of any importance the next morning.

Aoshi, too, appeared to have noticed. "Quite an audience we have here," he murmured sardonically. Misao did not answer, too busy trying to avoid his eyes. With a sudden gleam in their blue depths, he added softly, "Misao-mine."

He caught her attention this time. Her head whipped round furiously to meet his bemused gaze. _He had no right to be using that endearment!_ "What did you say?" she demanded angrily.

Smiling slightly, almost rakishly, he repeated himself. "Misao-mine."

Her eyes shone becomingly as an angry flush crept up her cheeks. "Please don't call me that anymore," she stated as calmly as possible.

He was still smiling. "Why not?" As if he had a perfect right to know.

"Because…" the anger faded, replaced by deep sadness. "Because…you don't mean it."

It tore him apart inside. "Mis—" he began, desperate to set things right.

She would not let him continue. Gently, but firmly, she pressed her fingers against his lips. "Don't." He flinched at her icy voice, once more devoid of any emotion. "As I said before, there is nothing we need to discuss."

His mind felt ready to explode. Didn't she see that there was _everything_ for them to discuss?! Didn't she see that they were both dying, bit by bit, of loneliness and longing? Didn't she see that she _couldn't _leave it like this? That he couldn't _let_ her leave? In fury, and desperation, he seized her hand and held it prisoner in his larger, warmer one.

"Misao, I—"

"_No!_" She wrenched her hand away, willing her body to escape. She couldn't let him in again. She couldn't endure the torture, the failure, the thousand disappointments one more time and not risk losing her sanity in the process. Ignoring the looks of surprise from the surrounding guests, her fingers still tingling from his warmth, Misao fled.

He was alone, as before, as always. Yet the memory of her touch was imprinted on his soul, and he would not let it disappear so readily this time.


	5. Dreamscapes

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Part II ~ Spring's Promise

Chapter 1 ~ Dreamscapes

It was a glorious day. The air was cool and clear, suffused with twilit radiance and the golden glow of sunset. She stood in Okina's garden, amidst the flaming poppies and crimson roses, illuminated by light. Her hair spilled down in a fall of dark silk, shimmering as the sun struck its rich tints. It was a rare occasion that she ever loosened it from its habitual braid ~ she had taken the occasion today to wash it and was now combing out the few tangles with a comb. Entirely absorbed in her work, she failed to notice his approach, or the enchanting picture that she made.

He stopped short when he saw her, stunned by the luminous creature before him. His grip tightened unconsciously on his kodachi ~ he had been returning home early from practice ~ as he fought to control the overwhelming wave of desire sweeping across his consciousness. It was a losing battle.

In a moment, his hands were tangling themselves in her hair, his fingers entwining with her own. Startled, she dropped her comb ~ it clattered to the ground with his forgotten blades. His lips were on hers in a hungry, possessive kiss before she could murmur his name. Her astonished gasp was swallowed in a passion neither could control nor cared to. After so long…all they had to do was surrender.

Misao awoke with a gasp, sitting upright in her bed and unconsciously bringing her hand to her lips. Had it really been just a dream? She sighed, feeling suddenly cold and small in the dark, quiet room. It was as if she could still feel his presence, so close yet so unreachable, leaving her shaken as though by a storm. She trembled once more, despite herself. Ever since that night, the dreams had been getting increasingly frequent and vivid. And she had been so sure she could forget him! Had it really been two days ago that he'd come back into her life again?

With another sigh, she rose out of bed and reached for her running clothes. Glancing at the clock, she noted that it was only 5 o'clock in the morning. _Oh well,_ she thought ruefully. _It's not like I can ever get back to sleep after these dreams._ With a sigh, she headed out the door.

The air was refreshingly cold and crisp, piercing her dream-like state with its absolute clarity. She inhaled deeply, then headed out to the Tidal Basin, next to the Jefferson Memorial. It was her favorite jogging path, and now that the cherry blossoms were in full bloom their clean, delicate scent drifted alluringly in the air. The sun was just beginning to rise, tinting the horizon with shades of palest rose to deepest violet. She ran with abandon, a reckless, foolhardy girl once more. Yet the scenes from her dream would not stop replaying themselves in her mind ~ not even the water's shimmering calm or the stately white marble pillars of the memorial could dissipate them.

For this time, it was not merely a dream. It was a memory.

Clothed in only his soft-green robe, Aoshi stood and stared out of his floor-length bay window. It gave him a clear vantage point over most of the city, especially the Tidal Basin and its ring of cherry trees. On a sunny day, he loved to stand here and watch the happy families enjoy themselves on the paddle boats, reminding him of his own times there with Misao. He smiled at the memories of Misao climbing the cherry trees, garlanded by a wreath of pretty blooms; Misao struggling valiantly on the paddle boats, her slim legs no match for his longer, stronger ones; Misao sitting contentedly by his side as he fished. His eyes darkened as he caught sight of a young couple strolling, hand-in-hand, along the path beside the water. _That_ was a memory he didn't have.

_That dream_…He suddenly remembered the reason for his restlessness this morning. He had awoken with a start, senses still assailed by a barrage of emotions and desires. It had been a long time since he'd had any vivid dreams, and this one had caught him completely unawares. Yet the memory of that kiss had always burned somewhere in his consciousness, always a source of fierce, hidden pain.

He had been nineteen that year, Misao seventeen. They had loved each other lifetimes before…since the beginning of the world. Yet he had left her the morning after, too afraid to face what he already knew to be true.

__

Why did you run? 

She smiled, wearily, at her perky assistant. "Thank you, Ruth. Is there anything else?"

"Um…Yes!" Ruth's grin stretched impossibly wider and brighter. "Your friends, Okon and Omasu? They called to say they were coming to visit later today. In fact…" she checked her omnipresent day-planner ~ Misao had thought it a sure sign of obsessive-compulsive disorder, until she realized that Ruth was only trying to imitate _her_ ~ "They should be here now."

As if on cue, the door to Misao's office burst open to reveal two giggling, well-dressed ladies laden with shopping bags. Upon seeing the seated girl, they dropped their bags dramatically and rushed to her side.

"_Misao_! What have you been up to? We've missed you _so_ much!"

Forgetting her former melancholy, Misao smiled up at them affectionately. Fellow residents at Okina's martial arts school, they had become like sisters to her over the years. It was Okon and Omasu who had taken care of Misao after her parents died ~ they'd taught her everything she needed to know and more about how to act like "a proper lady." She'd missed them sorely after they both married Japanese tycoons and moved out of Okina's school, but they diligently kept their constant vigil over their "little sister" and never failed to cheer her up.

"Hi you guys," she hugged both of them close and, as they immediately noticed, more tightly than usual. Pulling away, Misao pointedly arched an eyebrow at the mound of shopping bags, evidence of yet another wild shopping spree. "Raided Neiman Marcus again, did you?"

Okon blushed guiltily, while Omasu hurried to explain, "Demo…Misao, we got you something too!" She pulled out a small box, wrapped in pale pink tissue and tied with sheer organza ribbon. "For your birthday." She smiled proudly.

Misao stifled the urge to laugh, then announced mock-seriously. "Oh…thank you!" A chuckle escaped. "But girls…my birthday's in May. You're two months early."

Having been caught off-guard, the two guilty shop-a-holics flushed with embarrassment. Misao laughed, clearly and happily, and caught both of them in another embrace.

"Thank you! Thank you!" she whispered fiercely. "You have no idea how much it means to have two such wonderful sisters." She held the box reverently. "I love it, whatever it is."

"Well, aren't you going to open it?"

With a smile, she unwrapped the tissue to find a small and intricate hardwood box, painted with delicate cherry blossoms. Sliding open the lid, she beheld a shining locket, skillfully made in the shape of a sakura blossom, with a diamond twinkling merrily at its center. She gasped in surprise and delight.

"_Okon! Omasu!_ Arigatou!" she blinked back warm tears of joy, and fastened the dainty chain around her neck. "It's so beautiful."

"We always knew that you loved sakura blossoms the best," Okon added shyly.

"Yes, and we want you to put in the picture of someone special," Omasu winked. "So you can keep him close to your heart."

"_Him_?!" Misao feigned astonishment. "But my special people are you! Besides, the only man in my life right now is Okina, and I don't think I'd want _his_ picture there!" 

All three laughed gaily, sharing in the joke. Then Omasu suddenly became quite serious. "We heard from Okina that you saw Aoshi again at the party." She looked at the younger girl with concern. "I know you never talk of it to anyone, but Misao…daijoubu ka?"

She stiffened, eyes clouding with remembered pain. "Hai…everything is as it should be now." She replied softly, then smiled reassuringly at the two worried faces. "Don't worry about me. I'm fine. Look!" She gestured to her surroundings. "I'm perfectly happy right now. I have my work, my apartment, my pretty outfits, and an adoring family. What more could a girl want?"

"Demo…what about love?" 

"I can live without it." Her eyes begged them to drop the subject.

With a sigh, Okon mourned, "But you and Aoshi…you'll just leave it like this?"

"Yes." More firmly now, and slightly tinged with frustration. "Why does everyone automatically assume that we should be together?!"

"Because any fool with half a brain can see that you two were made and meant for each other. You needn't look so offended, Misao. It's a fact."

Misao's indignant protest was interrupted by a knock on the door, followed by Ruth's head around the door frame. "Miss Makimachi? You have a visitor."

"Yes, who is it?" She flinched at her own sharp tone.

"It's a man named Shinomori."


	6. Small Beginnings

****

Chapter 2 ~ Small Beginnings

For one brief moment the room was deafeningly silent, its inhabitants forgetting even to breathe in their shock. Then in a flurry of bags and kisses the two older women were gone, leaving Misao to what they knew had to be her own confrontation. Omasu winked cheekily at the wide-eyed secretary, still waiting at the door.

"Yes, we know he's handsome, my dear." Laughing softly, she pulled Ruth away and left Misao to prepare herself in privacy. "Wait until she tells you to let him in."

_How? When? Why?_ Misao desperately snatched at the storm of questions, explanations, answers swirling through her confusion. Aoshi was here…just outside…waiting for her. She struggled to calm herself. No matter what, common courtesy demanded that she be polite to her visitors. Even if it meant seeing, and speaking, to him again.

"Ruth?" she called, dismayed at the timidity of her own voice.

"Yes, Miss Makimachi?"

"You can let him in now."

A nervousness he hadn't felt in many years was plaguing him now as he waited outside her office. Trying to focus on anything besides the anxious fluttering in his stomach, Aoshi stared at the tastefully decorated waiting area, flooded with light from the late afternoon sun and accented with plush peach-colored chairs. The walls were hung with framed photographs, mostly of sunsets and sunrises, their subjects various familiar D.C. monuments. He wondered absently if she had taken them, and why they were filled with such achingly familiar loneliness.

"Mr. Shinomori?" the secretary's quiet voice interrupted his thoughts as he turned to face her. Her eyes widened in wonder again at the handsome man inquiring after her employer ~ she had seen him on the cover of various magazines and hotly discussed in the gossip columns. "She's ready to see you."

His gaze rested only briefly on her before shifting to Misao's closed door. "Thank you," he murmured, brushing past the self-conscious aide towards his true destination.

With a gentle push, the door gave way and he stood at the opening to her office. She lifted her eyes to his and time seemed to stop.

She sat, stiff and upright, in an enormous leather chair which threatened at any moment to engulf her slim body. Dressed in a simple cream sheath, hair half pulled back and falling to her shoulders, she nevertheless took his breath away. A sparkling pendant nestled in the hollow of her throat caught his attention as his eyes wandered over her body, then returned once more to her face. A soft flush had burned into it when he'd arrived.

"Hello Misao." The words seemed painfully inadequate to what he was feeling.

As if suddenly waking from a trance, she hurriedly motioned for him to sit down in a nearby sofa. "Aoshi…" she hesitated slightly, not wanting to sound rude. "What brings you here today?"

Why _was_ he here? He himself hadn't thought to provide an answer ~ he'd only felt the urge to see her again, especially after the previous night's dream. But now he was stuck without any explanation for his presence, the great Shinomori Aoshi who was never unfazed and never caught off-guard. His lips quirked in an ironic smile at his predicament. He missed the startled wonder in her eyes as she witnessed what was to her another rare occurrence.

"I…I was wondering if you would like to join me for dinner." What had he just said? He waited with bated breath and fought for calm, even as he realized that that was what he'd wanted all along.

"For…dinner?" Misao repeated, more to herself than anyone else, just to make sure that she'd heard right. Whatever she'd been expecting from Aoshi's visit, it certainly hadn't been a dinner invitation. Then again, they were old acquaintances, even friends ~ if she would allow it. And she realized that she had no right to refuse his friendship, not after everything they'd been through. They owed each other that much, at least. He must have seen that too. His intentions were perfectly innocent, after all. She brushed aside the vague feeling of disappointment at this and called herself an idiot for expecting anything else.

After only a moment's hesitation she nodded, giving him a friendly smile. "Of course. I'd like that very much." 

He let out a silent sigh of relief and marveled anew at the way her eyes lit up when she smiled. "Good. I'll pick you up at seven o'clock." He didn't need to ask for her address, nor did she need to volunteer it. Everything was…understood. He smiled slightly at her upturned face, and this time did not miss her response. "We'll eat at the Aoiya. I'm sure Okina will be glad."

She grimaced in mock annoyance. "I'm sure he would," she muttered. "Okina seems to especially enjoy torturing others in his presence." She clapped a hand to her mouth in dismay. "Not…not that…" she rushed to explain, momentarily at a loss for words.

Aoshi held up a hand, feigning a hurt expression. "No need to continue Misao, now that I know how you really feel." Only the mischievous glint in his eyes betrayed him.

For one awful moment Misao thought that she'd really hurt him. She felt her stomach clench in panic, but then noted with growing suspicion the brightness of his eyes and the playful smile threatening to overcome his serious expression. "Hey!" she cried in protest. "You tricked me!" 

Seeing his smile widen and, impossibly, reach his eyes, Misao felt a ridiculous urge to laugh, or burst into tears. She chose the former, and soon her clear laughter rang out in the room, dissipating any previous tension. Aoshi watched her with obvious pleasure, almost tempted into joining her…_But it would be better not to surprise her too much at once._ His gaze lingered on her mirthful face, then he reluctantly turned to leave.

"Don't forget," he reminded her, still smiling. "Seven o'clock tonight."

_Not for the world, Aoshi_. Outwardly, she responded with some of her old enthusiasm, "I won't forget…and I'll be ready."

At seven o'clock, when the doorbell rang punctually, she was freshly bathed and waiting. As the door slowly swung open, each waiting person took a silent breath and momentarily froze at the sight that greeted them.

His breath caught once more, as if he could never cease being moved by the vision before him. She was radiant and smiling, clad in a thin, silky slip of a dress. The pale pink material lightly skimmed over her curves and set off the golden tan of her skin. Her hair was pulled back, a few soft tendrils framing her petite features. She wore the necklace he'd seen before.

She hesitated in a similar fashion when she saw him, stunned by his absolute, almost flawless beauty. He was so beautiful…her hands ached to touch him, to skim over the strong planes of his face and run themselves through his dark hair. His suit fit him perfectly, quiet evidence of good taste and self-assured masculinity. She had to tear her gaze away, just to be on solid ground.

But outwardly they did not meet as old lovers, just dear friends. A little bit of the warmth they'd shared all those years ago had begun to return, and neither wished to strain the delicate balance of this fragile bridge. With a murmured greeting, he helped her put on her coat, then waited patiently while she locked the door to the apartment. Without further words ~ both afraid to disturb the poignancy of the moment ~ they left the building.

The aged doorman smiled affectionately as the couple passed by. It was so rare that anyone saw Miss Makimachi with a male friend, and even less often witnessed that endearing happiness on her face, that he stared thoughtfully after them for some time after they disappeared into the waiting car.

She could not help staring across the table at him. Hoping that he did not notice, Misao snuck furtive glances at her handsome companion, silently memorizing the color of his eyes, the fall of his hair, the suggestive curve of his lips. She desperately wanted him to smile again.

He was doing much the same thing, just more discreetly.

"Aoshi," she began hesitantly, then relaxed when she saw him smile. "Did you really design this place?" She looked around with obvious admiration at the spacious, but crowded restaurant.

"Aa," he affirmed with modesty, making no move to boast. She had always loved that about him. "Of course, it was Okina's idea to begin with. I just provided a few suggestions."

"Hmm…just a few…suggestions?" Her face took on a skeptical expression as she glanced at her surroundings once more. "I doubt Jiya had the talent to come up with something like this." She grinned mischievously. "But I'm sure he'd take the credit readily."

He joined her laughter with a quiet chuckle. "Perhaps."

She suddenly became serious once more. "What made you want to become…an architect? I always thought your true love was of martial arts."

He was quiet for a moment, then spoke thoughtfully, "I think that they have many things in common. To begin with, I've always thought of both as…art. The edge of this window, or the curve of that balustrade," he motioned around him. "They are in many ways like the flash and gleam of a falling kodachi, don't you think? There's a sort of quiet beauty to both."

She nodded in agreement. "Now that you describe it, I do see the similarities. Both require a discerning eye and an inner balance." _And both represent perfect grace and elegance_, she added silently, noting once more the quiet strength of the man before her and the understated refinement of the restaurant he designed. "I understand your choice now, Aoshi."

_She always could understand him. She was always the only one._ But after seeing her furious, frightened response at Okina's party that night, Aoshi knew not to rush things. As long as he remained simply the friend from childhood days, Misao would trust him. So outwardly he displayed only friendly interest when he asked, "What about you, Misao? Why did you become a lawyer?"

She laughed lightheartedly. "Well…I did want that penthouse at the Ritz, and the convertible, and those pretty clothes and jewels…and the only talent I ever had was for argument. So it seemed like being the hotshot lawyer and making those millions was the perfect choice for me." Her face darkened momentarily. "I harbor no dreams or illusions, Aoshi." _Not anymore._

He knew there was more…so much more. She loved facing challenges, loved the thrill of finding the perfect comeback. She lived for the deeper experiences life had to offer and never backed down from a cry for help. She had courage, and drive, and ambition. She dreamt big dreams and built wondrous castles in the air. She chased after rainbows as a child and, when they disappeared, simply set off in search of the next one. Her very existence served as inspiration for those around her. He knew all these things…and more. Yet it seemed as if she had buried them all away.

He wanted to tell her what he knew…wanted to see her find the old sparkle of self-confidence she had somehow lost. Was it because of him? he wondered with a pang of guilt. 

But he hesitated too long, and the moment passed. The quick flash of pain in her eyes disappeared as quickly as it had come, replaced by a carefully guarded smile. She would not let him in so easily.

The rest of the dinner went by smoothly. They chatted about fond memories from childhood and adolescence…swapped funny anecdotes about amusing clients…shared some of their plans for the future. And secretly Misao marveled at the clear blue of his eyes and the way his face gradually softened as he talked, while Aoshi could not help reveling in the warmth of her smile and the alluring glow of candlelight upon her face. Before they knew it the clock read eleven p.m., and it was time to go.

A little of the old awkwardness returned when he brought her back to the apartment ~ neither knew what to say or do. Both were feeling vulnerable, having just slightly opened up from being so tightly closed for so many years. She extended her hand to him at the door, and he shook it rather formally, though not without warmth. 

"Thank you…for tonight, Aoshi. I had a great time."

"I'm glad. Thank you for agreeing to come. You make great company, Misao." Then again, he'd always known that. An idea suddenly came to mind ~ a crazy, almost impossible idea. Almost. And he was just desperate, just reckless, just brave enough to take it. He took a silent breath…and prayed for the best.

"Misao…will you work with me?"

Her eyes widened in amazement. "What do you mean?"

Encouraged that she did not immediately refuse, Aoshi forged on. "Have you heard of the Yamada project?"

The top banking firm of Japan…wanting to open a D.C. firm…searching for architects…choosing…Aoshi. Her dazed mind snatched at the random facts, as if clinging to them would assure her some clarity, some calm. "Y-Yes." She hated the weakness of her voice. More boldly, "I read that they chose you to design their new complex here. Demo…what would that have to do with me?"

_Please…please let this work_. He needed her in his life again, in whatever form or fashion it took. "There's a lot more to architecture than just drawing the building." His lips quirked up in a wry smile. "Designing, and constructing, a new structure often entail massive legal actions ~ permits, contracts, ownership rights, the works. The Yamada firm _does_ provide its own team of lawyers, of course, but it's always…safer…to have someone representing the architect's firm, too. To have someone on my-…our, side."

Why was he doing this? One minute they were just getting acquainted, and the next…partners? Then again, she had to admit the idea appealed to her. A lot. 

She would never forget ~ or forgive ~ his leaving her. But maybe , maybe friendship was still possible. It deserved a chance, at least.

"Please, Misao." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I'm asking you…as a friend." 

More than a chance, then. It ~ his friendship ~ was something she could never deny.

Her answering smile, brilliant with warmth and acceptance, was all the answer that he needed.

That night, in their dreams, Misao caught the rainbow. She was both laughing and crying. Laughing ~ for the sheer joy of finally reaching those beautiful, dazzling colors. Crying ~ because Aoshi was by her side. 

And he was laughing too.


	7. Interlude

****

Chapter 3 ~ Interlude

She sat alone, in the shade of a great leafy tree, peacefully sipping her drink. A small smile played across her face, even as the shifting patterns of sunlight and shade danced upon it. She looked…happy.

The tall, handsome man lingered for a while in the shadows, enjoying the rare sight. He had not seen her so seemingly content in a long time, and now he let his gaze wander lovingly over her small, petite frame, wrapped securely against the spring chill in a soft pink shawl. Unable to resist any further, he rushed over and pulled her into a warm embrace.

"Hey babe. I've missed ya," murmured Sagara Sanosuke.

Misao uttered a barely suppressed shriek of surprise as she felt herself being enclosed by a pair of warm, strong arms. Arms that felt oddly familiar…and the hair tickling her face…and that smooth, low voice…

"_Sano_!" she yelled, this time in joyful recognition. She twisted around in his arms and gave him an equally fierce hug in return. "You're back!"

He chuckled, then gave her an affectionate peck on the cheek. "Of course! I couldn't leave you here alone for too long! Who knows what trouble you would've gotten yourself into?" He smiled at her blush, and settled himself comfortably into the chair beside hers. "So tell me, what's been going on?"

Misao suddenly found herself at a loss for words. How could she possibly explain to Sano everything that had happened in the past few weeks? Even she was still trying to put everything together. She placed a hand over his and said lightly instead, "No Sano! You have to tell me about Mongolia first! Here I've been, stuck at home working, while you go off on your little vacation halfway across the world! And you didn't even write!"

He grinned sheepishly, and Misao felt herself relax. Her face softened as she studied the man next to her. They had grown up together in Okina's school, much as she and Aoshi had. But instead of being quiet and detached like Aoshi, Sano was loud, brash, and always ready for a fight. He was also always ready to come to her rescue, be it from the local bullies, or as they grew older, the increasingly often occasions when she felt blue. Most of the time it was because of Aoshi. She sighed happily. Sano was her rock, her guardian, her friend. She had missed him dreadfully while he was gone.

Sanosuke in turn was looking intently at his companion. There was something markedly different about Misao…something that spoke of a great weight lifted, a joy bestowed. Some of the old light had returned to her eyes. He wrapped his fingers around her small hand in a gentle grip, secretly wishing that he could hold her in his arms like he had just moments ago. 

It was no secret that Sagara Sanosuke loved Makimachi Misao, just as it was no secret that she had loved Shinomori Aoshi.

Misao pretended not to notice the way Sano's hand tightened around hers, or the way his boyish hazel eyes deepened with unsaid meaning. She knew how Sano felt about her, but she also felt deeply that his was a misguided love ~ a childhood crush mistaken for something more. Sano would always be her friend ~ she couldn't live without his friendship, just as she'd gladly give her life for him ~ but she could never feel for him anything like…what she felt for Aoshi. What she _had_ felt for Aoshi. She couldn't help thinking that Sano deserved _more_, deserved someone whose heart would truly belong to him. He only had to meet that person, and he would know that he never really loved Misao.

For now, they would carry on this charade. Sanosuke was no fool ~ he understood what Misao's feelings were towards Aoshi, perhaps even better than Misao herself did. He hadn't grown up with the two for nothing, hadn't consoled Misao countless times for nothing. Grudgingly, he also hadn't missed the flash in Aoshi's eyes and the barely perceptible smile that appeared whenever she was near. Although the two boys had grown up together, they had never been close, both vying for Misao's attentions in their own ways. He had hated Aoshi for leaving her, had cursed him while she wept on his shoulder. For her sake, he hoped that she'd moved on. And he would wait; for one so normally impatient, Sano had an amazing amount of self-control when it mattered. He would not let her go without a fight.

They sat in a comfortable silence, lost in their musings but enjoying each other's company. It occurred to Misao how different silence could be, depending on the person one shared it with. Sano's silence never made her nervous or tongue-tied, and she thought back to those days when Aoshi's silence was just as companionable. As they had grown up, however, that chummy understanding had disappeared, changing to obvious awkwardness. 

Then again, Sano's presence had never given her the deep thrill she felt with Aoshi. She had never felt that tingle of anticipation, those flashes of absolute joy, when she knew that with _him_, she could overcome any obstacle, achieve any dream. With Sanosuke, she had never felt love.

"Misao?" Sano's low voice called back her attention. She gave herself a mental shake; how foolish of her to think of Aoshi when…when nothing mattered anymore. It was better to leave the past, and its painful memories, behind.

"Misao…tell me why you're so happy." His senses had never failed him; he still knew her better than anyone else. Except for maybe…

Her eyes widened slightly, then lighted with a rueful smile as she realized that she had to confess. "It's…I…I met an old friend the other day, and it just feels good to have reclaimed what I thought I'd lost." She turned to him seriously. "Sano, it was Aoshi. But don't worry, the happiness I feel is that for a long-lost _friend_." Chuckling, to make light of the situation, she added, "I don't make the same mistakes twice."

His breath came out in a sharp hiss. "Shinomori…that bastard…what did he come back for?"

She was alarmed at his reaction. "Sano please, let's leave the past alone, okay? I want us to all be friends again. And," she added slyly, "I know that even though you pretend to hate him, you'd go in and help him in a flash if he got into trouble. Just as he would for you." She decided not to tell him the part about them working together.

He sighed in defeat. She was, after all, a first-rate lawyer…and someone he'd never want to get into an argument with. He ventured another question that had been bothering him. "Shinomori…is he with anyone now?"

He watched her face darken with a sinking feeling. _So, she does still feel for him_. But he didn't press for answers when she answered simply, "Yes."

She had almost forgotten about Megumi…he'd never mentioned her at dinner. A part of her was secretly thrilled that he seemed to have forgotten about the beautiful girl, while her pragmatic side suggested that maybe their relationship was too personal, too…special, for him to discuss with anyone. Aoshi was too fiercely reserved to reveal to the world what was in his heart. The euphoria of the past few hours viciously turned to anguish. And anger. How could she have let her guard down so easily?

"Misao, daijoubu?" She realized, with irony, that it was the second time someone had asked her that in the past twenty-four hours. She put on a forced smile, forgetting that it was for Sano, who didn't need falsehoods to see her real feelings.

He really, really wanted to hurt Shinomori. But he reminded himself that this was Misao's "friend," _his_ friend, and with difficulty unclenched his fists. He was about to ask her again if she was all right, when she suddenly turned to him with a brilliant smile, genuine this time. His mouth open in surprise, Sano could only stare at her in disbelief.

She laughed ~ also genuine ~ and hit him playfully over the head. "Baka!" she told him, as well as herself. "Didn't I tell you that I only wanted his friendship? It'll be different this time Sano, I promise." With that, she leapt spiritedly from her chair. "Let's go see Okina! I'm sure he'd love to see you back!"

Ruefully he followed her, shaking his head in mock despair. "Women."

Overhearing his muttered comment, Misao smiled. She looked up at the dazzling noon sky ~ such a deep, pure blue ~ and let fly all her worries and fears. The time for grieving was over. Whatever the future held, she was ready. She would smile.


	8. Mimamoru: Misao

Chapter 4 ~ Mimamoru ****

Chapter 4 ~ Mimamoru

A. Mimamoru: Misao

In a shining arc the blade fell, catching the light and glinting brightly, to be followed by another just as beautiful and swift. The twin swords moved in an ageless dance, weaving an intricate pattern of silver and gold with the early morning sunlight. Their wielder moved just as gracefully, although he preferred to stay in the shade.

The clearing was peaceful and quiet, surrounded by tall, majestic trees. Through their clear green leaves filtered golden light, falling like shafts of warm wine on the gleaming kodachi and occasionally daring to caress the man bearing them. Although most of the time he stayed away from light, preferring to surrender only his kodachi to its brilliance, he could not help sometimes but bask in its warmth and glow. And it could not help but tenderly kiss the rich tints of his hair, the proud features of his face, the deep, muted fire of his eyes.

And so he continued, the look of intense concentration on his face mingled with the greatest, most fragile, peace. Nothing broke the silence of the clearing, save the occasional hiss of the kodachi slicing through air. Swords, wielder, light, peace…together they made the most moving, most telling of poems.

She watched quietly, unable to explain the sudden warmth filling her eyes or the wet track it traced down her cheek. 

Hidden behind the slim birch tree, Misao leant lightly upon its silvery smooth bark and trembled with the force of her emotions. _So…he has found peace, at last._ She had never seen him like this; he had always practiced at night, in darkness and moonlight ~ never at dawn, never with this hope. There had always seemed to be a fierce, almost desperate determination hidden in his movements, as if he was forever trying to reach for something, something fleeing from his touch. Now, there was only acceptance, and peace.

She couldn't help but smile when she saw that he still wore his old martial arts uniform, from Okina's school all those years ago, complete with the bow that would have looked ridiculous on anyone else but him. Now, it only served to mark the grace of his movements as he effortlessly whirled his kodachi. She glanced down at her own uniform, at the matching bow tied at her waist. At least they still had that much in common.

She had not expected to see him here this morning. Although they had both trained on Roosevelt Island as children, they instinctively chose different times for individual practice. She always came early in the day, relishing the feeling of basking in golden light; he chose night, and darkness. She fingered her kunai absently and winced at the memory of his simple explanation: "_I have you." _ Three words that bore a world of meaning ~ and could inflict a lifetime of pain. Looking back to the swordsman, her eyes clouded again with sadness. When had he found this peace? Who had helped him find it? _Was I…was I not enough, then?_

Had Aoshi already found what he looked for? Did he have what he wanted? If that was true, then what about…

She closed her eyes against the approaching tears and stubbornly shook her head. No. She would not venture down that path again. And she would not break their fragile bridge of friendship, carefully formed and nurtured over the past two weeks with their new partnership. Her palms suddenly itched for her kunai, her body filled with an irrepressible yearning to _move_, to be wild and free in the light. 

Eyes suddenly alight with mischief, Makimachi Misao leapt towards the sky and released her kunai…to fly straight at Shinomori Aoshi.

They sped towards their aim, in a path straight and true. But he was faster. In a single, flawless move the kunai were knocked to the ground, swept aside by his kodachi. He sheathed his blades and studied the unexpected intruders. Narrowed blue eyes suddenly widened in surprise, and recognition.

"Good morning, Aoshi."

Slowly, deliberately, he raised his eyes, hardly daring to trust his senses and afraid to shatter the illusion. It was no mirage. Misao stood before him, wearing a triumphant smile despite the kunai's failure; it was enough that she had surprised him. She wore her old uniform, navy edged with lighter blue, which as always was a little too short for her slender legs. Her hair, no longer waistlength, now hung in two shorter braids, briefly making her seem like a child. Her eyes sparkled up at him, the light in their blue depths at once teasing and challenging.

"Hello, Misao." He could not help but give a small smile, which she took as ample reward for her efforts. He had been so concentrated on his own movements that he'd failed to recognize her approach ~ a true rarity.

"I was wondering if you would indulge me in one of our old games today." She offered no explanations. He did not need any. The flash in his eyes ~ almost playful ~ answered her challenge.

"Catch me if you can!" It was her old battle cry. Both realized that today, its meaning went far beyond surface truths. Then there was no more time to contemplate such things.

She leapt nimbly into the trees, turning to smirk down at him and not knowing how pretty she looked with the sunlight framing her face. She knew that he liked to keep to the ground, which explained her shock when he appeared just as effortlessly on a neighboring branch. Laughing, she spun around and headed for another bough, fleet-footed and swift. He followed.

The world was a blur of gold and green, as she sped through the treetops and flew with the wind. He followed fast on her heels. In the early stillness of morning, the rustling of the leaves they passed and their quiet breathing were the only sounds to be heard. 

For Misao, the world contained only the steady branches beneath her feet, the brush of leaves on her arms and face, the warm light bathing her in its glow. She knew of nothing else, her focus narrowed to only the movements of her body and the ever-closing presence on her trail. Aoshi was just as isolated, mind and heart seeing only the slim, blue-clad girl racing away.

They both knew that he could easily overtake her. Yet, as with so many other things, they chose to pretend.

_Pretense…falsehoods…_he was lying to her, just like he lied every other time he'd let her win, every time he'd smiled at her stupid jokes, every time he'd let her fall asleep leaning against his shoulder. He had lied when he kissed her and left her without a trace. And she ~ she had been fool enough to believe him all those years.

Even as the more rational part of her mind screamed at her foolish temperament, the rash, unreasonable side bombarded Misao with insecurity and doubt. Her concentration shattered, she forgot to look for safe footing on the next branch. Landing awkwardly, her foot slipped painfully against the rough bark and she felt a hot flash of pain as something sharp tore at her ankle. She fell.

In slow motion, she felt herself falling through the glorious golden light, watching the leaves pass, noting every detail of vein and dewdrop. She saw the sun shining through the forest canopy overhead, saw the patches of blue sky dwindle and fade. She felt, rather than heard, someone call her name.

_Aoshi_. He would be trying to catch her, now. But it would be too late. He could not possibly hope to reach the ground in time. She felt the beginnings of a bitter laugh rising from deep within ~ she had thrown away all they had gone through, all they had rebuilt, in a careless moment of insecurity. For what mattered besides the present? How foolish it was of her to dawdle on the past. And now they would have no future…

_Misao! Never give up! _The voice echoed in her mind, calling from far away. Never give up. Her eyes flew open, her teeth gritted in determination. A million images flashed before her consciousness, but only one remained. She reached for it with all her might…

The moment she faltered was the moment an icy vise gripped his heart. The moment she started to fall was when he forgot to breathe. 

"_Misao!_"

He watched her seemingly float through the air, saw her blue-green eyes overrun by shock, then pain, then fear. Then he saw them close, in failure. Almost by instinct he dove after her, his body urging onwards and speeding up to almost inhuman limits. He never felt the sting of innumerable twigs and branches rushing towards his face, never noticed the strain in his overworked muscles. His senses were focused on one, single point; with a hoarse cry he reached towards it…

…In the split moment between despair and hope, fear and courage, failure and success, he caught her. He clutched her tightly against his heart, so that both felt its frantic pulsing. She, no less shaken, trembled in his arms like a broken leaf. For the briefest, sweetest of moments, she surrendered to his embrace, drinking in his warmth, his scent, his very presence, with desperate abandon. 

_Kyutto…motto kyutto, Aoshi._

Her heart whispering words her lips could not say, Misao gave herself one moment, and stopped fighting at last.

He knew he would never be able to find words fitting for the exquisite wonder of having her in his arms, or the almost painful joy lancing through his being the moment he felt her body relax against him in sweet surrender. Surely, she could hear the thundering of his heart, feel the blood singing through his veins. Unbearably grateful to have been given this moment, Aoshi could not help but hold her closer, reveling in her warmth and scent.

For one moment, only they existed. Illuminated by light, neither moving or speaking, hardly daring to breathe, they knew only the unfathomable depths of each other's eyes and the inexplicable ache in their hearts. In the silence of the forest clearing, even the air itself seemed hushed and waiting.

Then the silence was broken by a single birdcall, high and clear, and the moment passed. Suddenly aware of her predicament, Misao tore her eyes away from Aoshi's probing gaze, a blush beginning to stain her cheeks. Feeling her body stiffen and start to move away, Aoshi fought the urge to cry out in disappointment and averted his eyes as well. His arms, however, did not loosen their hold on their precious burden.

"Dai…daijoubu desu ka?" His voice sounded embarrassingly hoarse. His eyes shimmered with concern.

She smiled weakly at his worried face. "Hai, I think so." Then in a stronger, more determined voice, as she managed to regain her composure, "You can put me down now. I'll be okay."

He almost smiled at that. Misao was always so fiercely independent, unable to tolerate others' pity or sympathy. Some things never seemed to change.

Reluctantly he began to set her down, only to tighten his arms around her in alarm when she collapsed on her injured ankle the moment her feet touched the ground.

"Misao!" She ignored the anxiety in his voice and concentrated on easing her way to a nearby boulder. His arms were dangerously warm and reassuring around her waist; the boulder, by comparison, offered a relatively safer form of support. She sat against it gratefully and looked down to assess the damage.

"I should have been more careful," she muttered in disgust and disapproval, frowning at the sight of the deep gash along her ankle and the rapidly swelling bruises that would make walking difficult for at least a week. "You'd think that years of hard training would at least keep me from falling off a tree."

He was too preoccupied with her wounds to offer the simple observation that, up to a certain moment, she had been completely capable and perfectly adept at sprinting at high speed through the forest canopy. He wisely decided to save such comments for later.

"Large, bleeding cut to the ankle from errant tree branch, developing bruises from sprain due to horrible landing. All injury caused by extreme idiocy and carelessness," Misao grumbled in distaste. Luckily, nothing was broken, but there was still blood and grime to clean up. "Isn't there a stream somewhere on this island?" she asked, using a hand to support herself and struggling to rise. Wordlessly, he moved to help her, only to be stopped by a threatening ~ and extremely irritated ~ glare. "Daijoubu, daijoubu, I can take care of my-ouch!" She couldn't help wincing as pain shot up her side, having put too much weight on the injured leg. In a flash he was by her side, silently holding her up as they waited for the pain to wear off. When it did, she smiled sheepishly up at him, a self-conscious flush of crimson lighting up her face. "I guess I needed that helping hand, after all." 

His only response was a terse, tight-lipped nod; her smile faded at his stern expression. "Go-gomen," she faltered, looking down to hide quick tears of shame and rejection. "I didn't mean to become another nuisance."

But when she tried, unsuccessfully, to remove herself from his grasp, all she felt was the brush of gentle fingers under her chin, lightly tilting it up to let her see that his face was no longer shadowed and grave. He was smiling, though only slightly, his expression one of mingled reassurance, relief and concern. His eyes were wonderfully bright and wonderfully blue, but as always, their exact message could not be interpreted.

"Misao-chan," he said lightly, almost teasingly. "Do you think we could make it all the way to the stream without another mishap?"

She bristled at the unwelcome, childish nickname, but thought better of protesting and gave a glum nod. Bemused, and secretly relieved that she was no longer hurt, Aoshi resettled his arm around her waist, following an unspeakable urge to have her close to him. Carefully he guided her in the direction of the stream, unfortunately situated on the island's other side. Still, it would have been a short walk, were it not for Misao's injuries.

The going was slow and, as much as she tried to hide it, painful. Teeth gritted in determination, Misao refused all other offers of help, only allowing his supporting arm because otherwise, she would have been unable to stand. He had to admire her independence, thinking back to numerous women he knew who would even have faked an injury for attention. Yet he also could not help but wince silently each time she gasped in pain, could not stop the wringing of his heart each time she faltered then relentlessly drove on. Many times they had to stop for her to catch her breath, and as she would lean against a tree, struggling for air, face pale and drawn, he would have to clench his fists hard to stop himself from sweeping her up and carrying her slight form the rest of the way.

Misao was equally tense, inwardly cursing her clumsiness and unable to tolerate being such a liability. She had an unspoken terror of depending on others, a fear that arose with Aoshi's leaving and her belief that he had not wanted her to be a burden. Did he despise her now for being so troublesome? Would he leave her again? A sick feeling gathered at the pit of her stomach ~ she was afraid, so afraid that she could not meet his eyes and see that instead of irritation, all they held was worry, and concern.

Trying desperately to hang onto her previous euphoria during the chase, Misao fought the tides of fear and pain and concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other. She almost cried with relief, and exhaustion, when they at last heard the sounds of running water.

Sinking wearily into the grassy bank, she waited meekly while Aoshi gathered the clear, cool water in a makeshift cup of birch bark for her to drink. The water was refreshing and sweet, with an extra tang added by its wooden container, and Misao immediately felt some of her tension wear off. She smiled in appreciation and did not protest when Aoshi quietly began tending to her foot.

With extraordinary tenderness and care he eased her injured ankle into the water. His eyes left out no details, silently taking in the bloody gash, which had torn wider and deeper with their journey, and the similarly worsened condition of the swelling around it. She was watching him intently, fearing signs of disapproval at her clumsiness. She could read nothing, however, in his tightly shuttered countenance.

With her watching, Aoshi reached into an inner pocket of his uniform and took out a neatly folded square of material. It shone brightly in the morning light, and as he unfolded it, an embroidered corner slipped into view. He smiled upon hearing her gasp of surprise, and recognition.

"That's…that's…" she stammered, blushing a deep scarlet when she met his bemused expression.

"So, it _is_ possible to catch the famous lawyer at a loss for words." His teasing tone only made her more embarrassed. His eyes softened as his gaze fell on the white handkerchief. "Yes, it is what you think it is." Fingers tightening around the material, he looked at it with an indefinable expression. "It's been my only constant companion all these years."

She reached for it, holding it almost reverently as she examined the simple square of silk. Although it looked plain from afar, up close one could obviously see that it was of a very fine material, soft but not fragile, smooth but not slippery. Her eyes lingered on the embroidery in one corner, sea-blue gaze deepening as she studied the two characters of his name, artfully emblazoned in rich purple. She had made this herself for his thirteenth birthday; having been forced by Okon and Omasu to study some refined, ladylike arts, the first thing she had wanted to learn was how to sew his name. Clumsy at first, she had practiced for weeks, ruining many pieces of white material with bloodstains from her pricked fingers. Smiling softly at the memory, Misao carefully turned the silk in her hands, noting that the edges were becoming rough and the creases were deep and worn ~ as though it had lain folded in its wearer's pocket for a long time. She pretended to pout in annoyance, "Mou, Aoshi, you haven't used it at all!"

Chuckling, he reached over, plucked the handkerchief from her grasp and, to her great astonishment, plunged it into the stream. As he brought out the soaked material and ran it gently along her cut ankle, skillfully removing all traces of her blood, he murmured in a smooth, low voice, "But I am now, Misao-mine."

Suddenly unable to speak, she swallowed nervously and tried to hide her blush. With nowhere else to turn to, and Aoshi absorbed in his task, she could only lean back on her elbows and tip her head towards the sky, drinking in the glorious spring morning. She breathed deeply, inhaling the sweet fragrance of the surrounding wildflowers.

Looking up at her was a mistake. Seeing her relaxed and serene in the grass, face lifted joyously to the sunlight, a beautifully contented smile playing across her lips, Aoshi felt something break loose inside, flooding his entire being with warmth ~ and something more. His hands fisted so tightly that his knuckles turned white, he fought off with steely resolve the overwhelming desire to snatch her up from her bed of flowers and crush her petite body to his own, to kiss her until they were both dizzy and wild.

She wasn't ready for this, he knew. They _both_ weren't ready for this. Desperately trying to focus on anything other than the enchanting creature before him, who was as yet blissfully unaware of his internal battle, Aoshi decided that silence was far too dangerous.

"Misao." She stirred, lazily opening her eyes and waking from her reverie.

"Hmm?" Her languid response, half murmur, half contented sigh, almost broke his control.

"Come to the Cherry Blossom Ball with me."

She sat up so quickly that her ankle throbbed in protest. Ignoring the pain, she stared at him in wide-eyed surprise. "Really? You want me to go with you?"

For a moment, she had almost looked like a child again, eager and hopeful. His eyes shone warmly at her. "Aa. Demo…the Festival is in two weeks." He glanced down at her ankle. "Do you think you'll be okay by then?"

A determined light blazed in her eyes. She clapped her hands together in enthusiasm. "For the biggest annual ball in D.C.? Definitely! Everyone keeps telling me how fun it is, how pretty all the girls look…and of course we all know that they crown a Cherry Blossom Princess every year! Okon and Omasu, and Kaoru too ~ they've all been Princesses! Jiya's been pestering me for ages to go." She laughed mischievously. "Of course, _he_ never misses it!"

Aoshi quirked an inquiring eyebrow at the excited little nymph. "You mean, you've never been asked?"

She flushed self-consciously. "Well…I suppose a _few_ people have tried, but I…I was always busy with work. Demo," she added lightly, "this time is different! I'm working with you now, right? So it'll be like a 'business' affair."

"Right." His bemused gaze was neither skeptical nor accusing, but still made her squirm. They lapsed into another, less comfortable silence, each lost in thought. He was almost done tending to her leg, bandaging the now-clean wound with his large handkerchief.

"Aoshi," her voice was quiet and sincere. "Thank you."

He looked up in mild surprise, not having expected the change of tone. His eyes sought her own, which were bright and full of meaning. With a small smile, he replied warmly, "You would have done the same for me, Misao. In fact, if I remember correctly, you already have."

They both remembered. Misao's eyes grew misty with memory as images of the past paraded through her mind ~ like pretty gossamer spirits they teased her, inviting her to relive those precious, ephemeral moments. She saw the countless times Aoshi had come home from practice ridden with injuries, saw herself carefully bandaging every cut, every scrape, patiently wiping away mud and grime from the bruises, and finally…

She shook her head, once, and the memories faded. Ignoring Aoshi's curious look, Misao flashed her brilliant smile and asked, "All done yet?"

Aoshi nodded slowly, pushing his questions aside for later. "All done." He rose and extended a hand towards Misao. "Can you walk now? Or…" his eyes twinkled impishly, "will you put aside some of that famous Makimachi family pride and let me carry you?" Waiting a moment for this to sink in, he paused before throwing in the crucial line ~ the line that would make it impossible for her to refuse his offer. "You know, it would be easier on _both_ of us this way."

She was too exasperated to bother hiding her emotions. He waited, watching first outrage, then confusion, and finally hesitation expressing themselves in her arresting gaze. She would never allow another to trouble himself unnecessarily for her. So he was not surprised when at last, she sighed in defeat, glaring childishly up at him even as she nodded a quiet assent. He almost laughed when, as he bent to pick her up, he heard her mutter under her breath something about tricky fools trying to take advantage of helpless women.

"Don't worry, Misao-mine," he murmured playfully in her ear, effectively silencing her protests. "You're safe with me."

In resignation, she laid her head against his heart, lulled to sleep by the gentle sway of his footsteps and the rise and fall of his chest. Just before she drifted off, Misao suddenly remembered something she had been meaning to ask for weeks…

"Ne, Aoshi," she mumbled sleepily, snuggling closer against him. "Did you notice that we haven't seen Jiya for a while? I wonder what new girlfriend he's made off with."

Aoshi's answering laughter, rumbling deep in his chest and echoing in the golden air, was better than any lullaby she had ever heard.

Behind them, on the sun-drenched grass of the stream-bank, two shimmering spirits played out an unforgettable memory. Sweetly, tenderly, the girl went over each of the boy's cuts and bruises, giving them the best medicine of all: a kiss.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Standard disclaimers apply.

Author's Notes ~

Hmm…where to begin. First of all, I'm sorry this chapter (actually only the first half) took so long, but I hope its unprecedented length can make up for the delay (it took up 9 pages on my word-processor! Then again, chapters I thought were long, once posted, always seemed a lot shorter). The title, Mimamoru, means "to watch over." The chapter is split into two parts for a reason, as there are two different watchers. In the middle of this part, when Misao is finally letting herself be held, she is thinking in her mind, "Tightly, more tightly…Aoshi." *Hopefully* I got that right; if not, please tell me the correct way to say this so I can change it. And those who have seen Fushigi Yuugi may realize it's inspired by a scene from the last episode.

The opening scene is inspired by the song "Warriors Blue," from the Kenshin soundtrack, and is Aoshi's theme song. Here is the link where you can listen to it in Real Audio: [http://zerog.simplenet.com/kenshin/kenshin3.htm][1]

The best thing would be to listen to it while reading the first part, for "maximum effect." ^_^

But really, I love the song. It's amazing, and absolutely beautiful. It really took me by surprise the first time I heard it, and moved me to tears. It *is* the perfect song for Aoshi, embodying all the sadness and tragedy in his life, letting us feel the beauty and wonder of the man himself. Because it was unexpected, the first time I heard it I really did cry. It's not one of those experiences where the sadness builds up to lead eventually to tears ~ it grabs you right from the beginning, hits you straight in the heart, so that even if you were smiling before, you'd dissolve into tears right away. Maybe my reaction was a bit dramatic, but I think you'll all find it enjoyable. :)

Of course, all comments are cuddled and lovingly read, then re-read, and read again, and so on. ^_^ (Hmm…is anyone still actually reading this story here? I'm afraid that no one checks it anymore.) Anyway ~ for those who are reading, thanks!

   [1]: http://zerog.simplenet.com/kenshin/kenshin3.htm



	9. Mimamoru: Aoshi

****

Fallen Blossoms ~ Part II: Spring's Promise 

Chapter 4 ~ Mimamoru

B. Mimamoru: Aoshi

Flowers spring to blossom where she walks

The careful ways of duty,

Our hard, stiff lines of life with her

Are flowing curves of beauty.

-WHITTIER

In silence he watched her, his presence undetected. And even he himself did not notice in his rapt fascination: he was smiling.

The subject of his unwavering attention was perched on a low stool in the middle of the room, wearing a frilly pink cape and fluffy pink slippers, a medieval princess hat lending her all its sparkly, beribboned glory. A star-tipped wand was cradled in one arm, while a very old, very worn book was carefully held in her hands. Around her sat a crowd of children, of all ages and personalities. Yet now, just like him, they gazed at her with silent devotion, their senses and imaginations filled by her musical voice and ever-changing expressions. In their bleak, lonely lives at the orphanage, she was one of the few bright spots to light up their days.

Misao the Storybook Lady. He wondered what the gossip columnists would say if they ever discovered their Ice Princess in all her childish finery, looking for all the world like a character from a fairytale. His smile grew self-satisfied and smug; he hoped they would be shocked.

"She's amazing, isn't she?" said a low voice in his ear, accompanied by a soft chuckle. Startled from his thoughts, Aoshi looked down at the woman who had suddenly appeared at his side. A stout, matronly figure in her early-fifties, her eyes matching the steel-grey of her hair, she must have at all other times appeared stern and imposing. Yet now she wore a kind smile, gazing placidly back at the handsome young man who was studying her in silent scrutiny. 

Suddenly aware that he was staring rather impolitely, Aoshi started and hurriedly spoke, "I'm sorry…but you are…?"

_What a fine-looking young man ~ but definitely too sneaky for his own good._ She mused. Still, for some reason, she had been moved by the way he had gazed so intently at Miss Makimachi, with such tenderness and longing in his eyes. Misao had to be very important to him.

Which made her wonder why the girl never mentioned him.

"I'm the mistress of this orphanage," she replied, seeing no other reaction in his face save a brief flash of understanding. Looking pointedly in Misao's direction, she arched an eloquent brow. "But I see that you seem to have an…interest in our Storybook Lady here."

His response was aggravatingly vague. "Yes. We are old friends." After a short pause, he added thoughtfully, "Although I never knew of her other…identity."

Her expression softened as she returned her gaze to Misao. "Really? She's been doing this for almost seven years now." She chuckled again. "Of course, I was surprised myself when she first approached me with the idea. Such a pretty slip of a girl, barely eighteen years old ~ I thought, what was she doing here when she could have been enjoying herself with her friends? Then again," her eyes became pensive, "she wasn't like other youth of her age. She always seemed so…_sad_, as if underneath all her brightness and vigor there was an overwhelming loneliness. You could say that I was reading too much into it, but it seemed like all her laughter and smiles only served to hide a terrible, choking pain inside. That no matter how much she smiled, she was really hurting like crazy. I couldn't refuse her when her eyes seemed so desperate." The kind-hearted matron suddenly started from her murmuring, hastily wiping at her eyes and looking almost sheepish. "I'm sorry, I'm sure you didn't want to hear all that. Just think of it as indulging an old woman." Her voice brightened. "Misao's become quite the helper around here. We can't afford much, so I try to take on most of the duties myself. But ever since she arrived, it's been easier and easier to run the orphanage. She takes care of all the paperwork and funding for the place, and even comes once a month to help me clean. Then of course there's the weekly Storybook Hour." She paused, giving him a meaningful glance. "I'm not completely oblivious to who, or what, she is, you know. I've read about her plenty of times in the papers and magazines. But since she never brings it up, I keep quiet about it, too. She doesn't talk much about herself, so I guess she must be pretty good at taking care of her own affairs. Although sometimes, I'm almost tempted to tell her to take a break, she gets such a weary, haggard look in her eyes. Really, the rest of her may seem fine, but her eyes never lie."

A bell chimed somewhere upstairs. The older woman turned to Aoshi, who had been quiet throughout her speech. "I'm sorry, that's the dinner bell. I should be getting the table ready. Misao should be finished with the story soon." As she turned to leave, she suddenly fixed Aoshi with a penetrating gaze. "There's a reason why I told you everything I just did. I'm not normally one to meddle in other people's business, but just this once, I'll stick my oar in. I don't know who you are but," her voice was serious and earnest, "take care of her. You don't easily find someone like Makimachi Misao."

_No. No you don't._ He silently agreed. His outward demeanor of calm and quiet had never changed, his eyes still an unfathomable blue-grey as he remained half-hidden behind the door of the room. A casual observer would never have guessed at the turmoil within.

The older woman's words still rung in his ears, snatches of her confessions returning to haunt him like vengeful spirits. Misao had come to the orphanage seven years ago, barely eighteen, barely a year after he had left. She had been so young, should have been heartbreakingly happy and idealistic, but knew only of pain and betrayal. _A terrible, choking pain._ Aoshi was only beginning to understand the extent to which he had hurt her ~ and only just beginning to know everything she had suffered, endured and accomplished in the eight years that he was gone. Eight years! They had been too long of a punishment for both of them. Away overseas where he couldn't see her, only barely keeping in touch with Okina ~ and even then both avoiding the subject of Misao in their letters ~ he had almost gone crazy with longing. Only his work, and the goal he was so determined to reach, kept him sane. It seemed like Misao had also needed something to occupy her mind. And as always, whatever she set her heart on she succeeded in. He looked with admiring eyes at the bright, cheerful room, with its simple but comfortable furnishings, potted garden plants, and most importantly of all, happy children, gathered adoringly around their princess.

He wanted more, wanted to know about every second of those years, wanted to feel her every sadness, every loneliness, every happiness. He wanted to celebrate her every triumph and wipe away every single tear. The mistress had told him to take care of her; he wanted to do that and much, much more.

Because of what he had done to hurt her, because of that terrible, choking pain they had both felt, because of every single time she had kissed his wounds, because of how she had looked on the streambank that day, because of the way her soft girlish cheek was now pressed against the tousled head of a sleepy toddler, because of the light shining in her eyes that made his heart swell with boyish excitement, because she made everyone smile, even when she herself was crying inside.

Because he loved her.

It was the simplest, most complex of reasons, an unrelenting vise around his heart that he could never ignore. And he didn't want to run from it anymore. It was too priceless a gift. He had never trusted love, never truly believed in its power to sweep away all doubt and inhibition, but now he knew. And like a sweet, clear spring, her words to him, so long ago, bubbled forth from the secret well of his soul.

__

Trust in love, Aoshi. It is always, always enough.

She was right.

She would be finished with the story soon. His eyes shone with a strange light. It was, after all, her favorite…

__

Yoshi! Misao silently cheered, lips curving in a delighted smile. It was her favorite part of the book ~ she had read and memorized it a long time ago, so that she didn't even need the text. _And the children will love it too, especially the girls_, she thought in satisfaction, remembering the first time she had read the book as a child. Taking a deep breath, she began…

__

"…Then she locked the door and sat down under the silver poplar to wait for Gilbert, feeling very tired but still unweariedly thinking 'long, long thoughts.'" And as always, her mind filled with images from the past ~ a beautiful memory of starry nights and warm breezes, of two murmuring voices, earnestly repeating that poignant scene.

__

"'What are you thinking of, Anne?' asked Gilbert, coming down the walk. He had left his horse and buggy out at the road.

'Of Miss Lavendar and Mr. Irving,' answered Anne dreamily. 'Isn't it beautiful to think how everything has turned out. . .how they have come together again after all the years of separation and misunderstanding?'"

And suddenly she could go on no longer, voice choked by unnamable, inescapable emotions. Eyes shimmering with unbidden tears, she could only bow her head as the pages before her became blurred and unreadable. Even now, the memory was that vivid, and that painful. The children peered at their unexpectedly silent reader, the older ones wearing expressions of worry and concern.

Without warning, a new voice rose in the room and seamlessly, flawlessly continued the story.

__

"'Yes, it's beautiful,' said Gilbert, looking steadily down into Anne's uplifted face, 'but wouldn't it have been more beautiful still, Anne, if there had been no separation or misunderstanding. . . if they had come hand in hand all the way through life, with no memories behind them but those which belonged to each other?'"

Speechless, she could only stare as he approached, senses hypnotized by the sound of his rich, low voice, once more bringing to life that unforgettable passage. His eyes gazed unfalteringly into hers, intense and full of meaning. They had never looked so blue, never been so incredibly beautiful and honest. He was smiling, obviously enjoying her surprise.

"Ao-Aoshi!" she stammered, blushing furiously and trying hard to ignore the curious looks from her audience.

With no seeming break in his composure, he inclined his head politely and murmured, "Good evening, Storybook Lady. I thought I might join in the story hour tonight," then, turning to the children, "would your friends mind?"

Still lost in wonder, Misao could only shake her head mutely. Her eyes widened further as Aoshi gracefully sat down on a low stool beside her, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to do.

_As if they had been doing this, together, for ever._

It felt right, he mused. Sitting beside her, reciting the old story together, watching her from the corner of his vision, seeing her smile and cuddle the children ~ this was where he belonged. Where _they_ belonged. What a fool he had been for ever wanting to run away.

Her cheeks still burned with mingled surprise, embarrassment and hidden delight. But she managed to steady her voice as they finished the book, secretly reveling in the sound of his voice blending so smoothly, so naturally with her own, both discovering again the old rhythm from childhood days. The children were more than happy to have their princess joined by such a handsome "prince," and although Misao worried about what they must be thinking, all such cares soon passed from her mind and left her only to enjoy the rare moment of intimacy. Funny, how it was possible to feel so close to someone in so public a situation.

Speaking together, they ended the story: "_And over the river in purple durance the echoes bided their time._" He did not meet her eyes as she closed the book, but somehow she knew he was smiling. He waited silently as the children lined up to hug her one by one ~ it was their Story Hour tradition. After wishing the last boy "Goodnight" and sending him downstairs to dinner, she turned to Aoshi with an inquiring look in her eyes.

Without waiting for her question, he answered, "I've come to invite you to dinner with the Himuras. Kaoru called earlier and told me she wanted to make an announcement. And," he added, with a bemused expression, "she told me where to find you."

She nodded in understanding. _So that's how he knew_. No wonder, since she kept her activities at the orphanage very private. "I'd love to. Just wait a moment and let me change."

His lips curved in a slight smile. "Anything, Storybook Lady." Unable to resist, he added as she headed for a side room, "I never knew pink was your favorite color."

"It's not." Without breaking her stride, she tossed back over her shoulder, "But I _do_ tell fairytales here, Aoshi."

Five minutes later, she emerged a changed person. Clad in a slim black sheath, hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail, she was the picture of casual elegance and sophistication ~ worlds away from the childlike storyteller of moments ago. Only her eyes remained the same, shining at him with youthful eagerness.

He paused for a split second, memorizing the moment and tucking it away with many other such treasures in a secret corner of his heart. Helping her put on her coat, he said softly from behind her slim figure, "Misao, about that story…" His hands lingered for a brief instant upon her shoulders as he leant down to whisper something in her ear, something he had been wanting to tell her from the first moment he saw her reading their book. Something which meant far, far more than merely its surface truth.

"I remember everything."

Himura Kaoru looked triumphantly across the table at the two expectant faces. "I'm _pregnant_!" she announced, then smirked at Misao's shocked expression. Even Aoshi looked momentarily stunned. Misao's surprise soon turned to joy, however, as she leapt up and gave Kaoru an exhilarated, but careful, hug; Aoshi, in turn, murmured his congratulations to the proud father-to-be. 

"Kaoru!!! That's incredible! You must be so happy! _I'm_ so happy for you!" Her excitement was infectious, and two of those sitting at the table were immediately reminded of a much younger Misao, who possessed very much the same tangible joy. Kenshin, who did not know the young Misao, nevertheless knew he was seeing something that was letting itself show for the first time in eight years. _Her eyes have lost their shadows, as if the depths of happiness have been stirred._ She seemed completely transformed from the distant Ice Princess of the society balls and gossip papers ~ she was very much _alive_ now, glowing with warm vitality. His gaze flickered to Aoshi, whose eyes had not strayed for even a moment from his companion since their entering the restaurant. Although not personally acquainted with him, Kenshin felt keenly the connection between two warrior spirits that had manifested itself as soon as their eyes had met. _He is undoubtedly the reason._ He had not known if Shinomori Aoshi's return was meant to be a good thing for Misao, but seeing her now, fairly radiating happiness, and seeing the same sort of joy quietly reflected in her companion's eyes, Kenshin knew that the two had come to some sort of peace at last. And he finally realized why everyone he had ever met who knew of Aoshi and Misao had told him that they were a couple that was simply, meant to be.

The men sipped their tea in comfortable silence while the two women chattered away like excited birds. "Is it a boy or girl?" Misao was asking Kaoru.

Kaoru gave a delighted laugh, "Silly Misao, it's too early to tell! But I promise that you'll be the first to know when we do find out, and you can even help us choose the baby's name!"

Suddenly, a loud and familiar voice interrupted their conversation. "Oi! What are you two so excited about?" called Sagara Sanosuke.

Misao suddenly stiffened and turned pale, her gaze slowly shifting from the approaching Sano to Aoshi, who was still calmly drinking tea with Kenshin. She knew that Aoshi had seen Sano's entrance, yet his outward demeanor showed no sign of any disturbance. Only the almost imperceptible tightening of his fingers around the teacup betrayed his tension. Any normal person would have missed it, but the four sitting at the table were far from ordinary.

An awkward silence descended upon the little group; Sano, whose view of Aoshi was blocked by the girls, made his way over to the table, continuing on in his usual manner, "Why is everyone so quiet? Too stunned by my arrival? I'm starving! What, already started the feast without m—" He stopped abruptly, eyes suddenly narrowed. Misao had to look away for fear of what she might see on his face.

After what seemed to be an eternity, but in reality was only a few seconds, Sano spoke again. "Ah, I see." His voice was soft and low, yet had never before sounded so dangerous. His eyes bore piercingly into Aoshi's icy blue-gray gaze.

Both men were silent, but the tension between them was almost tangible. They seemed to be engaged in some sort of private struggle, each unwilling to back down from the other.

Moments passed, then suddenly, Sano smiled ~ but it was a smile that made Misao shiver. He deliberately broke eye contact with Aoshi, and to her great surprise, turned to her instead, smiling all the while. He reached for her, and because it was Sano, she could not bear to step back. 

"Good evening, dear," he gave her an affectionate hug and an impish kiss on the cheek. Her eyes widened and she could not suppress a blush. She had never blushed around Sano before. "How was storytelling tonight?"

Kaoru, in the midst of this silent mayhem, risked a glance at Aoshi. His face remained impassive, but..._his poor teacup is going to shatter soon. _And his eyes…

Aoshi had felt the ~ barely restrained ~ fury enter him as soon as Sano had dared to utter that endearment, threatening to spill over when he kissed her and held her so impetuously in his embrace. Yet the mingled despair he felt had only appeared with Sano's last question, as the full impact of his eight years away hit him with overwhelming force. He had forgotten…forgotten that Sano had been here all along, that Sano was the one who'd wiped away her tears, that it was Sano to whom she had turned for support, that Sano had been the one holding her in his arms, sharing in her life, for all the time that he had been gone. The elated confidence of the past few weeks faded away like a dream. For the first time in his life, Aoshi realized that he had _real_ competition. 

But he would not give up without a fight, would not give up again what was rightfully his. 

__

His…

Standing up abruptly, Aoshi cleared his throat, holding out one hand towards Sano. "Hello, Sagara."

Sano turned around and took it effortlessly. To Aoshi's surprise, there was a measure of sincerity in the younger man's eyes as he returned the greeting. "Good to see you're back, Shinomori."

Because both loved Misao, because neither could bear to see her hurt, because neither could survive without her smile, they chose to put the conflict aside while in her presence. The awkwardness slowly dissipated, disappearing entirely with Sano's first joke ~ trying to predict just how big Kaoru would become during her pregnancy ~ which was followed by a playful slap on the arm from the offended mother-to-be. Both men were rewarded for their restraint, as the color and sparkle returned to Misao's face.

But the challenge had been issued, and neither of Okina's two best students had ever been one to step down from a fight.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Standard disclaimers apply. I do not own any of the characters.

Author's Notes ~

****

*BIG SIGH OF HAPPINESS* Wow, this chapter is finally done!!! It certainly took me long enough, didn't it? And with school starting again in a few days, I'm afraid I can't promise speedier delivery. But like I said before, I WILL KEEP WORKING!!! 

First of all ~ A MILLION THANK YOU'S to all those who commented, threatened, encouraged…and most importantly, _read_. I couldn't have done it without you, truly. Rest assured that each of your responses has been lovingly cuddled and reread dozens of times. I think I could probably recite them all from heart. J 

The excerpt in the middle of this chapter was from the book "Anne of Avonlea" by L.M. Montgomery. The Anne of Green Gables books are like my guide for life ~ I absolutely love them, and I found this particular passage very pertinent to the Aoshi and Misao in my story. Let's hope they take Gilbert's advice! In case anyone didn't catch the reference ~ the reason Misao is so overcome when she reads this is because she and Aoshi had used to act out the passage as children. Very good of Aoshi to remind her that he does remember, isn't it? J 

Well, I'm off. Until next time, I remain…

Fondly yours,

Mikomi


	10. Beautiful Day

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Part III ~ Splendid Bloom 

Chapter 1 ~ Beautiful Day

Once upon a time, on a certain day in April, a boy and a girl woke up to a world of sunshine and bloom. It was their special day, and everything in the universe seemed to sparkle for them. Unable to contain their excitement, they rushed out of bed, dressed hurriedly, and sped from their separate rooms to meet at the appointed place. Joy manifested itself differently in each ~ bubbling forth from the smiles and laughter of the girl, shining quietly yet fiercely from the eyes of the boy. Words were unnecessary ~ their hands linked, their eyes met, and they _knew_. With pure, unburdened hearts, they set off happily to enjoy the day.

Fifteen years later, the sun dawned on another day in April, and a man and a woman woke up to an even more dazzling world. They were no longer children, and no longer lived within fifteen feet of each other. Their eyes were no longer free of shadows; their souls no longer untouched by sadness or loneliness. Yet after so long, on this day, the old joy sprang up once more ~ unbidden, but still as exhilarating. The smile that had been hidden for much too long blossomed on the woman's countenance; a long-hidden brilliance reappeared in the man's eyes. And this time, there was something new ~ a quickening of the pulse, an unexplainable leap of the heart ~ that colored every surface expectation and secret hope. 

Yet words were still unnecessary. And they still _knew_.

He met her, bright and ready, in Okina's garden. She was sitting under the weeping cherry, watching the petals swirling gently in the wind, and leapt up lightly when she saw him approach. He caught only a fleeting glimpse of her previously pensive expression, as she turned excited eyes and friendly smile upon him as soon as he came near. A slight flush had burned into her cheeks, making her look even daintier amidst the softly falling petals.

"Misao," he greeted her with a smile, which turned into a slight frown as he caught sight of the bandages still wrapped tightly around her ankle. "Are you sure you're okay for the Festival? There will be a lot of walking today."

She dismissed his worries with a nonchalant wave. "Daijoubu, daijoubu, Aoshi!" She hopped lightly for emphasis. "See? I'm good as new ~ it's not like I haven't been hurt before! And," she grinned gamely, "I've never missed a Cherry Blossom Festival yet."

Which, her lawyer's mind immediately reminded her, was not exactly true. The year after he had left…she shook her head firmly. _Carpe diem, Misao_._ It's time to leave the past behind._

Aoshi had not missed the slight darkening of her features. His own eyes deepened with similar memories, both happy and bittersweet. Determined as he was to make a fresh beginning with Misao, he somehow could never manage to evade those ashes from the past. Deep down, however, he knew that those same persistent ashes also nurtured the embers of his future ~ _their_ future. Together, they would have to walk the fine line between past and present, careful not to fall into misunderstanding and despair, seeking strength in each other and in every memory they shared. His love for her had never been extinguished ~ it had merely lain buried in the deepest corners of his heart, warming his soul in its coldest moments of loneliness and hopelessness, patiently biding its time. And now…he looked admiringly at Misao's stubborn expression ~ now, it seemed as if she was ready for the future, too. They would welcome it together.

He felt a surge of confidence as a great burden seemed to be lifted from his shoulders. He was no longer alone. There was nothing they could not do, together.

A gentle pressure on his arm, and Misao's inquiring gaze, woke Aoshi from his thoughts. She did not ~ and felt no need to ~ probe him for any answers.

"Are you ready to go?"

_I've been ready my whole life, Misao-mine._ But only his eyes said that.

It was a perfect day for the Festival, Washington's annual commemoration of that first gift of cherry trees from the Japanese government decades ago. Over the years, the young saplings had aged gracefully, and the city's collection had increased as well, so that every spring now it seemed to be swathed in misty clouds of palest pink. Ever since Okina had taken him in as a young boy, Aoshi had attended the Festival with the rest of the students at the martial arts school ~ part of the old man's efforts to pass onto his young charges his own deep and profound respect for Japanese culture. It had been Aoshi's favorite day of the year, and Misao's too, though for different reasons. Misao had loved the festivity and liveliness of the different stalls and performances ~ she was always the first to sample every food, dance or knickknack the vendors had to offer. Aoshi, in his own quiet manner, had enjoyed the feeling of reconnecting with his heritage and traditions ~ prompting Okina to remark, with a despairing glance at the gleeful Misao, that Aoshi was the only one who liked the Festival for the right reasons…

He paused in his reverie, lips quirking into a small smile, as the memory of the young Misao scampering amongst the crowds was replaced by a very real, very _now_ vision of an older Misao doing much the same. Flitting from one fascinating exhibit to another, she fairly glowed with excited interest and enthusiasm, unchanged even in the absolutely charming way she brought smiles to the faces of all the flattered stallholders. One minute she was sharing laughs with the mochi lady, the next, artfully coaxing the old ikebana master to teach her the finer points of flower-arranging. Watching her, Aoshi could not help but feel suffused with the same kind of vitality, could not help but be drawn forth from the inner crystalline stronghold which had held him prisoner for so long.

The old woman selling flowers watched with growing wonder as the young man's smile finally reached his eyes.

"Sumimasen, sir." He turned at the slight touch to look down at the old lady, whose face, though wrinkled with age, shone with a knowing kind of wisdom. Her eyes twinkled merrily up at him as she gestured at the basket next to her feet, seemingly filled to the brim with cherry blossoms and emanating an irresistible fragrance. "I think the princess deserves a crown."

For a moment, he was taken completely off-guard, until he realized that the basket did not contain merely sakura blossoms, but _wreaths_ of them, delicately twined together and tied off with pale organza ribbon. His gaze flew back to the old woman, who only smiled enigmatically and handed him a wreath. She shook her head even before he could ask for the price.

"A gift…for those who deserve to be happy."

His eyes widened in surprise, again, but he instinctively knew that it would be useless to argue. "Thank you," he murmured, returning the woman's smile ~ and because he knew that she would understand ~ "for more than just the flowers."

"Think of it as a friendly reminder." She looked like the magical godmother in those fairytales Misao used to love. "Now go," looking towards the girl, now peering intently into another display case. "Don't keep her waiting."

He did not answer her, but what she saw in his eyes was enough.

She was so engrossed in the display before her that his approach came unnoticed, and she started at the gentle touch of his hands upon her hair. His familiar scent surrounded her, filling her senses with an overwhelming awareness of his presence. He was _so close_…she fought hard to control the trembling that would give away her nervousness. He lingered for a moment more in her personal space, then drew himself away. 

Suddenly bereft, Misao let out the breath she didn't know she had been holding. It was only then that she noticed the lighter, softer scent of the sakura. The sweet fragrance was all around her, perfuming the very air she breathed. When she turned puzzled eyes towards him, he merely smiled and reached out once more to touch her hair. 

He motioned behind her. "Look in the mirror."

She had let her hair down that day, so that it fell smoothly to her shoulders and blew gently in the wind. A delighted smile sprang to her lips when she saw the crown of flowers.

"_Kirei_…" When she looked up at him, his eyes were shining with an inexplicable intensity. She blushed self-consciously, reaching up to brush the delicate petals, but couldn't stop the grin that spread across her face. The thought that he cared ~ _that look_ on his face ~ his _smile_, meant just for her ~ made her insides sing for joy, a joy that could not be contained and just had to announce itself to the rest of the world. 

Without any warning, she rose up onto her toes and lightly, swiftly, kissed him on the cheek.

Aoshi's expression was priceless, an immensely entertaining mix of confusion, pleasure and pure shock. She carefully watched the interplay of emotions on his face, for once unguarded and oddly vulnerable, unable to stop her grin from widening further when she saw the color creeping into his cheeks. He hadn't changed one bit…_he still looks adorable when he's embarrassed._

Yet when she met his eyes once more and suddenly found it hard to breathe, Misao was reminded that indeed, Aoshi was no longer a boy from childhood memories. And when she found herself unable to tear her eyes away from that anything-but-boyish gaze, when she realized that she would never be able to bear the thought of that look being meant for anyone else, when she felt herself helplessly, irresistibly drawn by the magnetic force of the man standing mere inches away ~ and wanting nothing else in the world but to close that gap ~ she knew that she was no child, either. She felt the answering heat rising in her own face, unable and unwilling at the moment to fully dissect its meaning. All that mattered now was that Aoshi was _here_, and his eyes held nothing but her reflection. She wished the moment would never end.

Once again, a little bird broke into their world with a brilliant trill. As one, they shifted their eyes away, unconsciously moving apart, acknowledging the ending of their brief interlude yet committing every detail to memory. The sudden tension ~ almost unbearable in its beauty and intensity ~ relaxed into easy friendliness. Without another word they set off once more along the lake path, accompanied by the sights and sounds of happy lives. Overhead, the sakura formed a long canopy of snowy fragrant bloom. Below the boughs the scented air hung around them like a delicate veil, illuminated by shafts of late-afternoon sunshine. The waters of the lake shimmered in ever-changing hues, the white marble of the Jefferson Memorial tinted amber and rose in that magical transformation from afternoon to twilight.

They strolled in companionable silence, each reveling in the warmth of the other's presence. The beauty of their surroundings hovered over them like an invisible benediction, intent on preserving the peace and contentment of a perfect day.

And the scent of cherry blossoms lingered on in memory, too sweet to describe in words.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A thousand apologies for the delay ~ a thousand thank-you's for your loyalty. Background music for this chapter was Gackt's "Leeca," an absolutely gorgeous song by an absolutely talented artist. It seemed to be the perfect choice to describe, or depict in musical composition, Aoshi and Misao's beautiful day together.

For those concerned about the…um, lack of plot ~ rest assured, the story is *not* over yet! I haven't forgotten about the other characters. ^_~ It's just that I've had this picture of the two of them together like this, surrounded by sakura, ever since the beginning of the story, and just had to "write it out." If any fan-artists could show me *their* depiction of the scene, I would be eternally grateful. :)

Feedback is, simply, *loved.*


	11. Travelling

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Chapter 2 ~ Travelling

The limousine ~ dark, sleek and utterly discreet ~ sped quietly through the streets, its tinted windows reflecting the bright lights of its surroundings, yet revealing nothing of the passenger seated within. Like a silent wraith it passed by elegant shops and noisy cafes, the occasional pedestrian who stopped to admire the shiny black vehicle, the friends and lovers on the street chattering gaily in the round of life.

Oblivious to it all, Shinomori Aoshi sat lost in thought, looking through the window yet with eyes unseeing and turned in upon some secret memory. Unconsciously, his right hand played gently with something on his left sleeve, near the cuff of the dark overcoat he wore. His eyes, dark with shadows, nevertheless shone with a hint of a smile. 

At this moment, his mind was far, far away…

…_The wind was playing softly with tendrils of her hair, teasing more of that subtly enticing fragrance from the crown of blossoms she wore. In the background, the laughter of families still enjoying the Cherry Blossom Festival filtered through the late evening air, somewhat subdued by the languid twilight. She held a mug of hot chocolate in both hands, seeking warmth from the slight spring chill. Her eyes were clear, her gaze direct. The warm golden light gently bathed her entire figure, bringing out the rich highlights of her hair, the flush in her cheeks, the thoughtful expression on her face as she sat across from him. _

Yet for once, he was unaware of those sights and sounds, entranced by something else altogether, hypnotized by the four little words she had just uttered.

"Why did you leave?"

Makimachi Misao sat at the small vanity in her room, putting the finishing touches on her makeup, then looking into the mirror with girlish satisfaction. She really wanted to dazzle them tonight at the ball ~ and here she shook her head with a rueful smile ~ no, she wanted far less, and far more, than that. Less, because she only needed one person's satisfaction; more, because that person's smile and approval meant more to her than anything else in the world.

A box of robin's egg blue velvet waited on the vanity table, open and eagerly inviting its new owner. Misao gingerly lifted its contents, her eyes sparkling just as much as the object in her hands as a certain memory was brought to mind…

…_At first, she had thought that he would refuse to answer, that she had angered him with such a bold and direct question. Yet she refused to feel guilt, because she _had_ to know, had an unspoken right to know ~ so she did not waver, and waited._

After what seemed to be an eternity of unmoving silence, he spoke at last, lifting his eyes in a deliberate gesture to meet her own. She almost gasped with surprise, for his gaze was just as direct as hers had been, honest and finally, finally, open. He was holding nothing back, and he did not falter.

"I left because I was in love with you."

She wondered, absurdly, if it were possible to set a record for quickest blood flow to the face, wondered if the unexpected wave of happiness and strange relief would permanently drown her, wondered if the tingling in her chest would ever fade away. She wondered, too, if he had seen the small stab of hurt that had surfaced for just a moment with his confession, wondered why his love for her had driven him away, wondered what his expression would be now, for she had turned her eyes away.

Would his eyes look as sincere now as they did when he had spoken those words?

Two pairs of eyes drifted closed, two faces wore the same serene expression, two hearts reached out for a shared remembrance.

_His hand reached for her of its own volition, seeking to reassure her and smooth away the doubt and hurt that had sprung into her eyes. Yet he forced himself to stop midway, resting his arm on the table between them instead. He couldn't touch her yet ~ didn't have a right to, yet ~ until he had told her everything._

She waited patiently, with a peace she hadn't felt in many years. He had loved her! Whatever his explanation for leaving might have been, at least she had that certainty, now. And for the moment, that certainty was enough.

He breathed deeply before continuing, searching carefully for the right words, yet finding that the words he had hidden away for so long in his heart, had longed to speak for so long, came easily.

"When Okina took me in, I was a penniless orphan. He gave me everything I had, and more. He taught me to work hard, to develop useful skills, to forge my own path to a better future." Aoshi held out his hands, staring at his sword-callused palms. "He gave these hands the ability to wield kodachi, to form fists for kempo, to protect everything that was dear to me and never be vulnerable again. Even more than that, he gave me the love of a father, something I had never felt before. My parents had died when I was so young that I had no recollection of them at all, and the subsequent years I spent wandering the streets were…" he paused, suppressing the slight shudder that always came when he thought of his past.

She reached for him instinctively, wanting to soothe the old pain, but stopped herself. She couldn't interrupt him now, couldn't be selfish and prevent this unburdening of his heart. She could only sit, and watch, and will her sympathy and comfort to protect him from those ghosts of the past, to take on some of his pain for herself. Had he looked up from his clasped hands, he would have found her eyes focused intently upon him, shimmering with unshed tears, holding none of the pity he dreaded to see.

He smiled wryly, almost to himself. "Those years are best left forgotten." Then he met her encouraging smile and suddenly felt the gloom lift. His voice became softer, his eyes tender as they lingered over her face. "And two years after he took me in, Okina gave me the biggest gift of all."

Again, he lifted his gaze to hers, starkly honest and hiding nothing.

"He gave me you_, Misao." The name came like a caress from his lips. "I…I had never known laughter before you. Never known innocence. Even after Okina saved me, all I knew was to practice as hard as I could, to push my body everyday to its limits, to become the strongest. But you…" and here he paused, suddenly at a loss for words, not knowing how to describe adequately what she had meant to him. _

"…You were like sunshine." And he could go on no more. He wanted her to understand, to know the difference she had made in his life, from that first moment her five-year-old hand had found his own. He wanted to show her some of the warmth that she had ignited in him with the first time that she made him laugh, the awe she had inspired in him, even as a child, when she chased after rainbows and did not return crying when they disappeared ~ the faith she had given him with her simple belief that, "There will be other rainbows." She had made him leave the past behind, by force of will made him see and enjoy the present ~ for who had time to brood when constantly chased by wiry little girls and flying kunai? She had given him friendship that was pure and true, unconditional and undemanding, coaxing him gently out from the walls he had built around his heart with each childish game she played. When they grew older, she had helped to chase away his demons, her own face replacing theirs in his dreams. And at last, at last he had realized, that morning in Okina's garden, just how much he needed her.

How could he find words to describe such things?

But he had forgotten that words had long become unnecessary. When he next had the courage to look at her, he saw that she was smiling, smiling through her tears. And even without speaking, her smile told him that she understood.

"Please…" she whispered, still not bearing to touch him. "Please go on."

His eyes were closed now, as if even he himself wanted to hide from the memories to follow. "The moment I realized how much I…felt for you was also the moment I realized that I had nothing to offer you. Your family had wealth, lineage, influence…expectations. I had nothing. I left," he hesitated, feeling once more that old shame and helplessness. "I left because I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to make you happy."

It was then that she allowed herself to cross the gap, laying her hand over his trembling one. His eyes flew open in surprise ~ he had expected hurt, anger, disappointment…but not comfort! Yet he saw nothing of what he expected and feared, only sincerity against a backdrop of bittersweet regret.

"You didn't have to leave." She forced away the regret ~ now was not the time to be mourning over lost years. "I…Aoshi, you have ~ will always_ have ~ so much more than 'nothing.' What you meant to me, what your friendship gave me…cannot be measured by wealth or titles. If," her eyes suddenly clouded, and she moved to take away her hand. "If you thought that only those things could make me happy, then you didn't know me at--"_

"I was wrong." And his hand turned over beneath hers to grasp it tightly. "Misao, I thought that if I went away and came back rich and successful I could give you a better life. But I was wrong, and I hurt you, and I was fool enough to not know it." His voice was urgent, pained. "God, Misao…all those years I was away, and you were hurting, I didn't know. I just wanted to reach my goal, be the best, and come back in glory to sweep you off your feet. I never used what Okina gave me to protect the people most important to me." He gave a short, self-deprecating laugh. "I never did what Gilbert said after all, did I? I brought separation and_ misunderstanding, robbed us of those happy memories we could have had together. How could I have been so selfi--"_

It was her turn to interrupt him, and she placed a silencing hand over his lips. "Don't. Don't hurt yourself anymore. You weren't all to blame. I…I was too proud, too foolishly offended, to come after you for a proper explanation. I should have known that you wouldn't have willingly hurt me, should have asked the deeper questions. But I didn't, and rather than thinking of your own difficulties, I let myself be angry. So I was at fault, too." And, she wanted to but was not yet ready to add, it's not too late ~ for us to come hand in hand through life, with no memories between us but those which belong to each other. So she uttered the words like a prayer in her heart and wore the mask of a friend instead. "The past is gone now, but all the misunderstandings have disappeared too."

Her voice suddenly turned playful, perhaps to hide the blush creeping over her cheeks from the warmth of his fingers still curled around hers. "Aoshi, do you remember when I used to chase rainbows as a child?"

His eyes had lost their shadows. "Aa, I do."

Her gaze was piercingly blue. "Do you remember what I always said when they disappeared?"

And she laughed as recognition dawned, as a little girl's voice seemed to float in on the tides of memory.

"There will be other rainbows."

Smoothly, soundlessly, the limousine pulled up to the steps of the Ritz Carlton Apartments, Washington D.C.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Background music was Faye Wong's "Passing Years."


	12. Hitotsuboshi

**Chapter 3 ~ Hitotsuboshi**

            "Breathe, Misao.  Just…_breathe."_

            She stood nervously on the smooth white marble, one step away from the top, one step away from entering the magnificent ballroom.  After all the planning, after years of waiting for the one person to ask her whom she would not reject like the others, she was hesitating.  

            Somehow, by an instinct she couldn't name, she knew that when she took that final step forward, everything would change.  And she wasn't sure if she was ready for that yet.

            Oh ~ she wanted to!  She wanted to take that step forward, to stand on the top of the marble staircase with the secure knowledge that _he_ would be on the other side, waiting for her.  Yet, she didn't know what she would see in his eyes, if they would shine with that unmistakable intensity they used to hold only for _her_, or if she would only find the caring warmth of a childhood friend, here to have a good time, and nothing more.  And that would kill her.

            They had remained almost silent during the limousine ride, each lost in thought, but it had been a companionable silence.  Her face hidden within the hood of her long white mantle, she had snuck occasional glances at him, only to find his eyes unwaveringly focused upon her.  She was glad that he couldn't see her blush.  Nor had she missed the telltale flash of sapphires at his cuffs, and she smiled in secret triumph at seeing her gift.

            The Kennedy Center, festooned with the rich crimson silk that made it seem like a gift wrapped with red ribbon, had looked like a dream.  His hand, when he helped her from the limousine, was strong and firm and warm.  Her heart, which for years had joyously awaited this moment, beat so, _so fast._

            She'd asked him to enter first and wait for her in the ballroom, wanting for once in her life to make a grand entrance and ~ hopefully ~ surprise him.  Yet as she had made her way eagerly up the stairs, her excitement had somehow dissipated and she'd been filled with an awful…_fear_.

            Makimachi Misao had never considered herself a coward.  After all, she had never once failed to step up to a challenge, never once retreated out of fear.  She was a formidable foe in the courtroom, a person to be looked up to with awe and respect.  Most people would never have dreamed of seeing her back down.  

            Yet when it came to love, she was absolutely spineless.

            From the moment that Aoshi had reappeared in her life, Misao had felt the shadow of change.  It had crept up at first, tentative and careful, able to retreat easily into a corner of the mind and be ignored.  She couldn't exactly pinpoint its nature, and didn't particularly care to, only aware of the disconcerting fact that life seemed somehow _brighter_, that smiles became easier, that the smile of one person _in particular_ meant too much to be…safe.

            _Isn't this what you've always wanted?  A part of her had slyly asked.  But the uneasy feeling had only grown, as change suddenly lost its hesitant exterior and galloped towards her full-force ~ _too fast, too soon_.  And she had found herself wondering when the happy dream would end, and she would once again be…alone._

            Now, if she were to take this step…Misao fought the sudden trembling in her heart, the absurdly overwhelming feeling of terror mingled with excitement and a wild, wild exhilaration.  

_Everything will change._

For a brief moment, the hand that had hung limply by her side curled itself into a fist, knuckles white with tension.  Then the moment passed, and her head was no longer bowed, and her eyes no longer uncertain.

Makimachi Misao was no coward.  And no fear could overcome the one realization that was making her insides sing.

_He's waiting for you._

As the first chord sounded on the grand ballroom piano, the last marble step finally felt the cool caress of silk.

~ _Je__ m'en souviens comme si c'était hier ~_

            Washington D.C.'s annual Cherry Blossom Ball had always been the highlight of the year, gathering together under the Kennedy Center's glittering crystal chandeliers the equally brilliant stars of D.C. society.  Only the best and brightest belonged to this evening, looking their most splendid in lustrous gowns and sparkling with jewels, gaily mingling with kindred spirits from the worlds of art, literature, politics and science.

            Yet when Makimachi Misao stepped into the room, all conversation ceased.

            There had been no special spotlight, no broadcast announcement, but she seemed naturally to belong to the light, glowing with an inner brilliance that eclipsed all else in the grand ballroom.  Those whose nature it was to be jealous and unforgiving would later claim that Ms. Makimachi had "chosen" her entrance well, perfectly coordinated with the music's beginning.  Those who knew _Misao, knew that such were the ways of Fate, to arrange for the girl the only introduction befitting one of her kind._

            And as they took in the enraptured gaze of one in their midst, they would suddenly find themselves believing in that previously absurd idea…of Destiny.  Then return their eager eyes to the object of that gaze, waiting with bated breath to see how the fairytale would unfold.

            As for the hero and heroine of that fairytale ~ they were oblivious to it all.

~ _Tour à tour nous soutenant ~_

            He couldn't seem to take his eyes off her.  She stood, slim and radiant, on the marble landing above the crowd.  She wore a white dress, just as she had done those weeks ~ no, lifetimes ~ ago at the opening of Okina's restaurant.  Cut from the same delicate silk, this dress, strapless, clung just as elegantly to the graceful contours of its wearer, falling smoothly to lightly touch the ground.  Yet this time, its pristine surface was no longer bare, embroidered with a scattering of tiny crystal blooms so real they looked like real sakura floating across the silk, almost leaping into the air to gently surround Misao with a myriad of pink petals.  The dress ended in a slight train, now gathered and affixed to it owner's right wrist with the sheerest silk tie.  She wore no jewelry around her neck, leaving open the unmarred line of slim, smooth neck and shoulders.  On her left wrist, he noted with a sense of secret joy, she wore a distinctly familiar bracelet of pink and white diamonds, shaped to look like the entwining branch and blossom of a sakura in bloom.  The matching necklace that had been missing from her neck was, he realized with admiring surprise, fixed in the shining masses of her hair, one brilliant sakura blossom resting lightly in the center of her forehead.  It was not unlike the circlet of real blooms she had worn the day before.

            Aoshi waited last to look upon her face, and what he found there would remain vivid in his mind until the day he died.

            Her cheeks were tinged a most alluring shade of pink, born of the slightest sense of…was it self-consciousness?  Or hesitation?  Or excitement?  Lips full and slightly parted, she looked as if she were about to tell him something, something he would have willingly given his life to hear.  And the eyes that he had not dared to look into before then were filled with a happiness so simple yet so deep that he feared his heart would burst.

            A part of him registered the music of a lone violin, weaving an intricate melody with the notes of the piano.  He had never believed, until that moment, in the romantic notion that love stories had their own musical accompaniment.  He could believe in anything, now.

            He never realized, however, that he dared not look at her feet ~ somehow afraid that he would fine there crystal slippers and, like Cinderella, she would disappear into the night as an ethereal dream.

~ _nous__ disputant, riant de nous-mêmes ~_

            She wondered, idly, if for the rest of her life she would always be able to spot him this easily in a crowd.  If his image had been forever branded upon her consciousness, never to fade with the passage of time.

            She was not surprised to see him look up as soon as she entered; her position was conspicuous enough without the finely honed senses they both possessed.  But she would never, ever cease to be amazed by how utterly beautiful he was.

            It was a beauty beyond the appearance of face or dress, that transcended the impeccably tailored tuxedo, the lean uprightness of build, the dark gleaming hair, the sapphire cufflinks that she had known would match the exact shade of his eyes at this moment.  For Misao, Aoshi was beautiful in the careless way his hair fell over his forehead, lightly brushing the tips of his eyelashes and making her ache to be in their place; he was beautiful in the way the smooth planes of his face spoke at once of strength and vulnerability; he was beautiful in the mix of unnamable emotions that flashed in his silent gaze as he lifted his eyes to hers; he was beautiful in the way his very presence made her want to forget everything and run into his arms, as if that was where she had always belonged.

            But she didn't run, this time.  She couldn't afford to disturb the magic of this moment, as the music wove its enchantment and bound her to him with gossamer thread.

            As Misao began to walk down the steps, she never noticed the people moving apart like the edges of two parting waves, never saw the path cleared instinctively by the mesmerized crowd.  She knew only one final destination; physical obstacles had no place in this world.

            They moved towards each other, accompanied by memories of their past and hopes for their future.  Impish spirits played out unforgettable moments from the landscape of remembrance ~ surrounding them with visions of laughter and tears.

            And they met.

~ _Le souvenir de cette époque rayonnante_

_reste__ gravé dans mon coeur ~_

            Her hand was in his, her eyes shining like evening stars, and with a tiny smile, she stepped back into a graceful curtsy.  With the violin mirroring his movements, he responded with an effortless bow that never took his eyes away from her.  Then he pulled her close.

            For an endless moment they simply looked.  And all of a sudden the moment was too unbearably sweet ~ so as the music soared, he swung her onto the polished ballroom floor and into the ageless dance they both knew so well.

            The audience remembered to breathe.

~ _Je__ pense ne jamais pouvoir l'effacer, ni même l'oublier ~_

            Takani Megumi was furious ~ not only had the Makimachi girl stolen her date, she'd done an even more terrible thing and consigned Megumi to being a mere member of the spectator throng.  She glared at the dancing couple.  "Why, that conniving little—" but her frustrated words were cut off by a _very_ firm hand on her shoulder.

            "Shh…" Sagara Sanosuke's expression was unreadable, but his tone was low and serious, and not to be disobeyed.

            If it had been anyone else, she would not have complied so meekly.  For in a strange and ironic way, she knew that Sagara was in the very same predicament.  She turned to face him, expecting sympathy and the companionship of the dispossessed., but he was already looking away from her and back towards the dance floor.  His chocolate-colored eyes were strangely warm as he murmured:

            "Just…this moment."

~ _Courant après mon rêve, je reste enchaînée ~_

            They paused at a sudden lull in the music, as he twirled her away and held her at arm's length.  Yet their eyes still saw nothing but each other, and as the color deepened in her cheeks Misao could not resist following the magnetic allure of his gaze.  Slowly but surely, she ended up again within the circle of his arms.

~ _Cherchant__ à m'en libérer, mon rêve s'évanouit... ~_

            In the privacy of their own world, he smiled…and for her alone the smile reached his eyes and illuminated the whole of his being.  Before she could react, he lowered his head and whispered next to her ear the words of a poem he had long ago memorized and saved for just this instant.  At his voice she grew still; when he was finished, he saw that her eyes were glimmering with unshed tears.

            But these were tears of joy, not sorrow ~ they gave him courage, not fear.  And as the music swept in he did what he had dreamed of doing all these years since that morning in Okina's garden:

            He kissed her.

**Author's Notes:  **

            I know that I don't deserve any readers after such a long absence, but I hope that anyone who has strayed across "Fallen Blossoms" will have enjoyed it, and this much-delayed chapter.  "Hitotsuboshi" means "Evening Star," and the accompanying music is Gackt's instrumental "Story" ~ it is a wonderful, wonderful song, and was the inspiration behind this entire scene.

            This chapter could very well be the end of the story ~ although it continues in my mind and imagination.  I'm not sure if I should continue it.  What does everyone think?  Are there too many loose ends to be tied up?  I have many more scenes imagined for Aoshi and Misao, but I'm not so sure if I should put them through it. :) I would definitely welcome any opinions on the matter!

            Thank you for reading.


	13. The Season Turns

**Chapter 4 ~ The Season Turns**

"Misao?...Misao?" Himura Kaoru stifled a mischievous grin and waved her hands in front of her cousin's face.  "Earth to Makimachi Misao!"

            With a start and an irrepressible blush, the guilty party returned from the land of dreamers and stammered apologetically to the taller, laughing woman, "Go-gomen!  I don't know where my mind was…"

            "Oh but I do, Misao-chan!" Kaoru gave her an impish wink.  "After that spectacle last night, I'd be surprised if you weren't still floating in the air.  What a sight you were!  Every single person in that ballroom had eyes only for you."  Her voice softened in memory.  "One person in particular…"  She turned starry eyes towards her cousin.  "Misao, that look on his face when you walked in ~ it was the stuff of fairytales.  In all the years I've known Aoshi, I've never seen so much _emotion on his face.  He looked so utterly vulnerable, but so open too.  More like a living, breathing, _feeling_ person than ever before.  And that __kiss!"_

            "Kaoru!" Misao turned imploring eyes towards her grinning tormentor, then smiled despite her own embarrassment.  "It was rather fun, wasn't it?  Although at the end we were both kind of shocked to find ourselves alone in the middle of the room, with all those people just watching!"

            "Oh Misao, you silly girl.  With the two of you lost in each other's souls like that, how could we look elsewhere?  And did you see this morning's papers?  The press is absolutely wild about you and Aoshi."

            Misao grimaced, for a moment glad that Aoshi had gotten himself away to an out of town conference and escaped the media blitz, then shrugged her shoulders and looked up ruefully at the twilit sky.  Kaoru had come to meet her at the orphanage today, for one of those impromptu girl talks they often shared, especially after momentous events.  Now en route to their favorite café, they lapsed into a companionable silence ~ each thinking deep thoughts, made more lovely by the other's familiar friendship.  Around them dusk crept in on velvet paws, casting mysterious shadows upon otherwise familiar street scenes.

            Bits and pieces of Kaoru's sisterly chatter floated persistently in Misao's thoughts, unwittingly adding to some of the worries that had begun to taint the surface of her happiness.  "_So utterly vulnerable…lost in each other's souls…the press…"  They reminded that change had come, not just with last night, but long before then, long before even their meeting at the Aoiya.  Change had happened in the midst of their loneliness and longing, their separation and misunderstanding ~ and now it menaced them once more.  For they could not remain locked away in a separate world forever, a world constructed from memory and the desire to make amends for mistakes of the past.  Yet she quaked at the thought of venturing beyond that protective cocoon._

            _So utterly vulnerable.  _

            Did Kaoru know ~ could she guess ~ just how vulnerable Misao felt, too?

            "Ne, Misao?" The former's thoughtful voice broke into Misao's contemplation, momentarily dispelling the threatening haze of fear.  They had stopped in the middle of the pavement, and Kaoru's eyes bore into her own with the clarity of purpose that signaled the onset of a rarely seen, but always insightful, seriousness.  Misao, who could stare down the most intimidating of trial lawyers, never quite trusted herself before that gaze.

            "Do you love Aoshi?"

            Kaoru burst into laughter at the younger woman's obvious surprise, but her eyes did not lose their serious expression.  "I know that it seems preposterous of me to ask such a question, because to most people the answer appears to be too obvious, and half the world must take it for granted and expect the two of you to announce your engagement any day now."

            "But Misao," and the teasing look slid off her face like a warrior's mask, to reveal the true strength within.  "_You_ cannot take for granted that the answer is yes."

            _Because everything has changed._

            The statement hovered between them, unspoken but clearly felt, piercing through the fog of tangled feelings that had besieged Misao since the very beginning to show her the blinding lucidity of context ~ the simple fact that life does not stop for pleasure or pain.

            Aoshi had changed.  She had changed.  And the world beyond them had both reshaped itself to fit their paths and dictated the directions they would take.  Every single one of their choices and actions had affected other lives ~ Megumi and Sanosuke, Kenshin and Kaoru, Okina, Okon and Omasu ~ who, in turn, could not help but leave indelible impressions of their own.  The relationship between Misao and Aoshi did not consist of the simplicity of two lines, converging, diverging, or parallel.  It had always been far more complex than that.  

            Change was not merely a thing of the past, to be mulled over and analyzed.  It coexisted with every heartbeat.

            To answer Kaoru's question, Misao could not simply rely upon her previous feelings ~ could not depend upon the glory and fragrance of yesterday's bloom.  To transplant such beauty would be easy and sacrilegious, an offense against the sweetness of the present, which was only waiting for the right moment to unfurl.  The shield of remembered love was both invincible and inaccessible.  For love to truly survive ~ to warm with each breath, glow with every heartbeat, shine with each tear ~ it had to be tended with patience, courage and honesty.  With no walls and no defenses.

            _So utterly vulnerable._

            …_but so free._

            Kaoru watched the dawning realization, and knew that the shadows had receded a little.  Relieved, she pulled Misao into a tight hug, silently accepting her gratitude.  Without another word the two friends continued on their walk.

            Misao looked with wonder and awe at the woman beside her, and understood once again the reason why someone like Himura Kenshin had fallen so completely for the seemingly brash and ill-tempered Kaoru.  For at this moment she glowed with a kindness and wisdom that was magnificent to behold…which suddenly brought to mind _another_ reason why she must be glowing so.

            "Kaoru, tell me more about the baby!" And she laughed as it was Kaoru's turn to blush.  "Well?" she persisted, a teasing but genuinely curious lilt to her voice.  "Tell me more about this wondrous world you've ventured into."

            It was true, she realized, as she watched Kaoru's eyes deepen with an inner joy and her hands pause tenderly at her belly.  Kaoru was in a completely different world now, and the happiness of that world would always be private and unreachable to anyone except her and Kenshin.  Misao felt herself on the outside of that intensely personal glow, and could not help feeling a twinge of loss.  She and Kaoru had always shared everything, before.  Yet she would never be anything but heartglad for her cousin and dearest friend ~ it was more than enough to be "not the light, but near the light."

            "Kenshin and I are still thinking of names.  We want the baby to have a Japanese name, and to know and appreciate as much of his heritage as possible.  We're even thinking about moving back to Japan, to Tokyo or Kyoto, for a few years, both to reconnect ourselves and for our child to be truly immersed in the culture.  Perhaps we'll open our own dojo there, and take new students.  I've always loved to teach, and Kenshin has such a special way of attracting talented swordsmen.  We would have a quiet, ordinary existence ~ but far from uninteresting.  Even if the colors aren't very brilliant, our happiness would be enough."

            _Hope.  Tender, humble and undemanding, yet infusing Kaoru's every word with breathtaking beauty.  Misao felt herself surrounded by its glorious light and reveled like a little girl first discovering the limitless possibilities of life.  At that moment, the world did not seem capable of evil, disappointment, danger or failure._

            It was to be a long time before she forgave herself for letting down her guard.

            She didn't feel their ki until it was almost too late, and bit back a scream of panic as five looming figures detached themselves menacingly from the surrounding shadows.  They were tall, solid men, dressed in dark clothes and each bearing some sort of weapon.  One of them had a baseball bat, while the glint of metal shone in another's hand.  Their eyes were trained on the women's handbags, and darted with sinister aim to their jewelry.

            In the next heartbeat Misao had pushed Kaoru aside, shielding her with her own body as the five men closed in.  With time enough for only one thought ~ "Protect Kaoru and her baby, at all costs!" ~ she made her move.

            While the men had strength and numbers to their advantage, Misao had the crucial element of surprise and years of training at Okina's capable institution.  She had sparred with, and learnt from, some of the most talented fighters in the world.  Her most constant training partner had been Shinomori Aoshi.  So it was no wonder that her eyes gleamed with both furious energy and deadly calm as she launched herself at the nearest two attackers.  With a flying kick the front man was knocked into his accomplice; she landed easily on their crumpled heap and used the momentum to kick out against the third man.  He went sprawling, conveniently, into a fourth, and both skidded into a very solid brick wall.  Which left only the fifth attacker.

            Who had one arm around Kaoru's neck, the other holding a knife to her throat.

            _No.  Faster than he could blink Misao was already upon him, prying back his knife arm with one hand and pushing Kaoru to safety with the other.  With a growl of rage he forced back his arm and slashed; she was too preoccupied with Kaoru's safety to guard herself properly and the knife connected with her shoulder even as he kicked her hard.  She felt a white hot flash of pain and almost blacked out, but struggled back to the surface when she thought of Kaoru.  Her wounded left arm fell limply to her side and she staggered from the impact of his booted foot, but she forced her screaming muscles to comply and kicked the knife from his hand.  The effort it took to lift her leg left her unbalanced; she stumbled and fell onto her wounded side, almost going under again as pain exploded along her arm._

            Kaoru's warning cry saved her from the descending baseball bat.  Her first attacker had woken up, and she rolled away just in time to miss his vengeful swing.  Cursing herself for not having brought her kunai, Misao lashed out with one foot and caught the side of his face, then pushed herself up to her feet.  He howled in pain and anger and blindly swung his fist; she was too close to dodge it entirely and it smashed into her waist, almost knocking the breath from her body.  As she staggered back she fell into the grip of her previous opponent, who locked his arms around her chest as his companion kneed her in the stomach, then slapped her across the face so hard that she saw stars.  

            But her only thought was still of Kaoru, and she knew that she had to do everything to keep her headstrong cousin from leaping into the fray.  So she controlled the raging pain and glared defiantly at her attacker, sparing a moment to shout, "Stay back, I'm fine!"  Then she lifted both legs and kicked the man in the groin; as he doubled over in agony she pushed off with her feet against his shoulders and flipped over the one who held her captive.  The landing, however, was rough with her distorted balance, and she collapsed painfully onto the pavement.

            What greeted her when she next lifted her head would forever be seared across her memories, like a fiery brand and its unspeakable torment.  Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, as she struggled to rise to her feet and prevent the man with the baseball bat from getting any closer to her suddenly cornered cousin.  His footsteps echoed in her ears like thunder, her own sounding pitifully slow and unsteady.  The bat rose ominously in his hands, and her mind cried out in a litany of despair, _Too late, too late, too late_.

            _Misao__!  Never give up!_

            With a strangled cry she forced her body to its limits and hurled herself between the weapon and Kaoru.  The blow landed upon her injured side, the force of its impact causing her to stumble and fall back upon Kaoru.  Her mind was enveloped in a thick haze of pain, and she screamed at herself to get up and dispose of the attacker.  But Kaoru had jumped to her feet, energized by the thought of danger to her child, and with surprising speed seized the man's weapon from his astonished grip.  Wielding it like her bokken, she quickly reduced him to a simpering heap on the ground.  

            But the strain and pressure took their toll, and even as Misao began to smile in relief her expression froze to one of horror at the look of sudden agony and fear on her cousin's face.  Clutching her abdomen, Kaoru doubled over in pain; she lifted eyes huge with panic to Misao as the younger woman rushed to her side.  

            "Misao, it hurts!" She closed her eyes and moaned as another wave seized her. "Misao, help me!  I have to save the baby!"

            The ambulance seemed to take forever to arrive, though the rational part of her mind calculated only about ten minutes.  They were the longest ten minutes of her life.  Kaoru had just about passed out from pain and worry, and she could do nothing but hold her tightly and murmur soothing reassurances in her ear, trying desperately to fight back the panic and helplessness that threatened to drown them both.  Kaoru's last coherent entreaty rang over and over in her ears: _Save the baby_._  Misao, you have to save the baby._

            The paramedic's eyes had widened in astonishment at the sight of the five prone figures scattered on the pavement, a look quickly replaced by concern as he took in the battered women before him.  No matter how much he insisted, Misao had refused any of his ministrations with icy calm, stating in a voice that was at once flat and dangerous to please focus all of their attention to treating her cousin.  It was a tone that no one dared to disobey.

            Looking at her now, he could only shake his head and sigh.  He was an experienced paramedic, with many years on the job, and he had seen his fair share of such situations.  The girl was obviously in shock, and had frozen herself away from the rest of the world.  Physically she held herself remarkably still, moving rarely and with precise, efficient actions intended to mask the severity of her injuries.  Only her eyes revealed flashes of guilt and fear as they focused unblinkingly upon her companion.  He sighed again and scanned her bloody, battered form ~ she couldn't fool his professional eyes.  Her injuries required immediate attention, and she looked ready to snap from the strain.  He knew that she was walking the brink.

            Some part of him admired her for that, for the steel beneath the silk that allowed her to hold herself with such poise and control, in spite of injuries that would have brought down a grown man twice her size.  The rest of him wanted to, with uncharacteristic violence, break the street scum who had done this to her.

            He reached out impulsively to offer her his comfort; laying a gentle hand upon Misao's uninjured arm, he promised her quietly, "Don't worry, we'll do everything we can for her.  And she'll pull through."

            She looked at him with eyes that politely refused his sympathy but accepted his help.  For a moment they shone with gratitude so profound that it illuminated her entire being, then the mask slammed down and extinguished the light.

            But that singular glimpse gave him all the encouragement he needed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Standard disclaimers apply.

It appears as if the story has taken on a life of its own, and refuses to be finished.  By writing this next chapter, I have committed Misao and Aoshi to a multitude of further adventures ~ I hope that you, my dear readers, will be patient and see them through!  Thank you to everyone who offered their comments, support and encouragement, and to those of you who simply read the story.  I promise that I will do my utmost to deliver the next chapter soon!


	14. The Gathering Storm

**Part IV ~ Thunder in the Night**

**Chapter 1 ~ The Gathering Storm**

She couldn't get her hand to stop shaking.

            Misao gritted her teeth in frustration as the telephone receiver slid for the third time from her trembling, useless fingers.  _Focus, Misao.  Focus, or you'll never be able to call Kenshin._

            _Kenshin._

            She couldn't remember a time in her life when she had been more terrified to pick up the phone, or when she had quailed at the thought of facing her cousin's sweet, gentle husband.  Because she knew that he, too, wore a mask ~ and the strength it concealed rivaled anything that Aoshi was capable of.  

            But now it was her duty to let him know.  That his wife and unborn child were presently in the emergency room, fighting for their lives.  That they had been attacked on the street by a couple of nameless gangsters.  That she had failed to protect them.

            She had failed.

            Misao stood with her head bowed before the hospital phone, hands fisted tightly at her sides, and forced herself to stop shaking.  Her guilt and nervousness were luxuries she did not deserve to indulge in; she had far more pressing things to do.  Digging her nails so hard into her palms that they cut painfully into flesh, she ignored the discomfort and concentrated on stopping the tremors.  Soon, her hands were perfectly still.

            With calm and steely determination, Misao dialed the number of Kenshin's cell phone.

            He came in at a dead run, red hair flashing behind him as he deftly pushed aside anyone standing in his way in the narrow hospital corridor.  Without hurting them, of course.  Even when his own were threatened, Kenshin could never hurt a soul.

            Which, Misao reflected bitterly, was much more than could be said for herself.  She stood up to intercept him, suppressing a startled wince as he gripped her shoulders hard and silently demanded answers with desperate eyes.  His face held the raw, naked terror of a man poised on the brink of losing his entire world; it was so unlike the kind, peaceful expression of the normal Kenshin that she almost turned her eyes away.  But she forced herself to look at him with a level, open gaze ~ this witnessing of pain, caused by herself, was part of her punishment.

            "She's—they're—in the emergency room right now."  She made her voice clear, crisp, professional.  "The doctors are doing everything they can to save the baby."

            _This, too, I must bear.  Her eyes steady as Kenshin's face contorted in an agonized mixture of hope and despair, as his violet eyes suddenly burned amber and ruthless and his right hand tightened reflexively around an invisible sword handle.  She reached out instinctively to clutch at it, heedless of the pain lancing up her arm and the blood seeping out from her still untended wounds._

            "_No." She stayed firm in the face of his amber-eyed rage.  "They're behind bars now and not worth your attention.  __She needs you __now, more than anyone else in the world."  Her voice softened as his body relaxed and the violet returned to his eyes.  "Go to her, Kenshin.  Kaoru needs you.  They _both_ need you."_

            And when he turned away towards the emergency room, her heart cried out silently the words she had been too ashamed to speak.  _I'm sorry.  I'm so, so sorry.  Even now, they were utterly inadequate to the monstrosity of her failure.  She had no claim to his forgiveness ~ how could she keep Kenshin away from his family for even a second, to give herself the satisfaction of an apology?  She had forfeited that right when she'd let Kaoru fall into the abyss of pain._

            Suddenly feeling sick and dizzy, Misao dropped heavily into the uncomfortable waiting chair and fought off the waves of nausea.  She couldn't leave until…until…until she _knew.  Her eyes were still achingly dry; her warrior's mask remained firmly in place ~ whatever comes to pass, she would be ready for it.  She would be there to absorb the pain._

            The artificially bright, coldly impartial fluorescent lights shone down unfeelingly upon the solitary figure in the hospital waiting room.  They did not hesitate to remind her that she was alone.

            The young doctor rushed out through the emergency room doors, the thrill of victory enveloping him in a golden halo that made his eyes spark.  He was yet naïve and innocent enough to delight in small triumphs, and he knew exactly who needed to hear his news.  _The girl with the sad eyes.  His boyish face beamed happily as he bounded towards her, eager to bring back the smile that he knew belonged to her rightful nature._

            "They're safe!"

            Relief washed over her with the force of a tidal wave, almost sinking her completely.  She struggled to keep from bursting into grateful tears, choosing to smile instead.  For one pure moment she felt nothing but joy and gratitude ~ they blazed with such force from her countenance that the young man felt as if he were watching the sun rise.

            "Thank you," she breathed, as her face sparkled like a dewdrop in sudden sunshine.  Years later, when the then-famous physician began to write his memoirs, he would choose this moment as the most inspirational point of his entire career, when he truly understood the meaning of the reply that would follow.

            "It's my job."  He placed a hand reassuringly on her shoulder.  "You don't have to worry anymore.  They're both safe now."

            His caring expression suddenly turned to one of alarm when she began to sway unsteadily on her feet.  "Miss Makimachi?  Are you alright?"

            She held tight to his arms for support and waited for the world to right itself again.  Breathing deeply, she managed a reassuring nod, but couldn't help wincing when he grabbed her shoulders again.  Noting her discomfort, the doctor released her immediately, for the first time taking in her battered appearance and noting with sudden horror that his right hand was covered with blood.

            "Miss Makimachi!  Your arm!"  He held it with gentle but firm fingers and balked at the extent of the damage done by the gangster's knife.  "We have to get this stitched up right away," he declared in a tone that accepted no opposition.

            His satisfaction at her compliance, and preoccupation with her injuries, made him forget to check her eyes.

            She wondered if all hospital corridors were meant to incite loneliness and despair.  The bleak colors of the walls, the harsh fluorescent lighting, the smell of death and suffering, permeated the space around her and pressed down chokingly upon her spirit.  Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to escape this place, and she quickened her steps towards the elevator.

            Somewhere in this maze of corridors, she knew, hope and gladness shone like a warm beacon of light.  She had stood just outside the circle of its glow when she'd looked into Kaoru's room, just to make sure that she _was_ alright.  The sight of the little family within, with its sweet dreams of the future, was too intensely private to intrude upon, and had left her full of shame and guilt.  She had almost destroyed those precious dreams.

            Misao was not a pessimist by nature, but at that moment all her past failures and mistakes were parading before her in an endless gruesome parade.  One by one they mocked and taunted her ~ grotesque, distorted names and faces echoed back a chorus of wrongs, misunderstandings, and worst of all, hurt that she herself had inflicted.  She no longer had the strength to fight back.

            Blind to her surroundings, Misao stumbled brokenly towards the great steel doors at the end of her path.  They opened silently as she reached them.  Aoshi stood just within.

            Time stood frozen for the space of a heartbeat, then he reached for her.  She shrank back like a wounded creature, instinctively fearing his touch.  Yet her countenance remained empty and blank, while his, ironically, was stricken and fearful.

            "Misao!" His voice held panic that it had never allowed before.  She flinched as if she had been struck, and turned her head away.

            In one glance he took in the entire state of her body, eyes missing nothing ~ not the deep hand-shaped bruise on her cheek, not the large bandage on her arm through which crimson was already beginning to seep, not the way she cradled her wounded arm against her unhurt side, not the unnatural stillness of her body as it tried to control pain beyond its limits.  A veil of scarlet fury descended over his vision as he felt bloodlust so strong that it _hurt_ not to succumb to it.  But he couldn't, not yet, not while Misao teetered on the edge of insanity like a blossom about to fall.

            He forced his fists to unclench, the fury to retreat from his eyes and his body.  It would only frighten her away.  At this moment any sign of anger would only deepen her misery.

            Keeping his eyes fixed upon Misao's frozen, unseeing stare, willing the warmth in his to melt the ice in hers, he took a soundless step forward.  Then another, and another, until he stood close enough for her to feel the heat of his body.  Close enough to envelop her tattered spirit in the comforting shelter of his own.  Gently, so tenderly that he trembled, he lifted his hands to cup her cold face, immobile as spun glass.

            "Come back, Misao," he pleaded in a whisper.  "Come back."

            And like she had done as a child, he bent down to kiss the hurt away.  Soft as the touch of butterfly wings, his lips brushed over her forehead, her eyelashes, her cheeks, the corners of her mouth.  Each brief caress was a promise of protection, an assurance of forgiveness, an offer of himself.

            Finally, as her eyes fluttered closed, he kissed her lips.

            _Come back, Misao.  Come back._

            Her body shuddered once, hard, and then she fell into his arms with a surrender so complete that it left him stunned with sweet agony.  He held her as hard as he dared, lifting her exhausted body to cradle in his arms with infinite care.  Then he turned into the elevator and took her home.

            She cried silent tears in her sleep, the rest of her body still and unmoving in his bed.  He held her and murmured soothingly in her ear until she relaxed against him, lured to sleep himself by her deepening breaths.  But the tears continued to flow in wet tracks down her cheeks.

            In the morning she was gone.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Standard disclaimers apply.  Comments are welcomed and cherished.


	15. First Rain

**Chapter 2 ~ First Rain**

He flung out an arm over her side of the bed, irrationally hoping that he was still dreaming but not surprised when he found the sheets already cool to the touch.  On the pillow lay a single sheet of paper, with two words written in her hand that rang with the chilling finality of a farewell.

            "Thank you."

            Inwardly cursing his exhaustion from the previous day, when he had fought rush hour traffic, airport congestion, and a rising tide of panic to jump on the first available plane to D.C. and hurry to the hospital, he dressed and strode swiftly out of the apartment.

            He knew just where to find her.

            Whenever they had been troubled or upset as children, Aoshi and Misao had always withdrawn to the sheltered quiet of Roosevelt Island, to let loose in private the anger and frustration that would otherwise remain dangerously repressed beneath a prideful mask.  The Island thus became their sanctuary, and they always tactfully left each other alone to vent in solitude, waiting patiently to welcome the other home.  Until now.

            He found her in the same clearing where he had practiced with his kodachi, shrouded in the early morning mist.  She wore only a thin tank top and pants, as if she were unaffected by the spring chill.  Indeed, she was already drenched in sweat, and he saw with dread that her bandages had begun leaking through again, their patches of scarlet the only spots of color in a tableau of hazy gray.

            She was practicing her kenpo, going through each movement as precisely as her body would allow, seemingly oblivious to the pain it must be causing.  From the way her face was drawn in fierce concentration and her breathing clouded raggedly in the cold air, he could tell that she had forced herself to repeat the set over and over again.  Her knuckles were bloody from when she had pounded a nearby tree, her eyes glazed with exhaustion.  To the untrained eye, she would have appeared graceful and efficient.  But he did not miss the trembling in her upward kick, the desperate strain in her too-tight fists, or the slight faltering in her balance that threatened to knock her onto the forest floor.

            An almost imperceptible stiffening of her shoulders told him that she sensed his presence, but she did not stop.  Instead, she only went harder, intent on pushing her body to its limits.

            Unable to hold back any longer, Aoshi reached out to block her next blow.

            Her fist landed snugly in the grasp of his larger hand, its warmth threatening to overwhelm the cold of her body and the ice of her defenses.  When he refused to release her she swung out with her other arm; he caught that just as easily and firmly.  Through the fog she imagined his eyes to be mocking and triumphant, silently condemning her weakness and inferiority.  But that was only what she wanted to see.

            Anything would have been better than the sympathy and forgiveness that was shining in their blue depths.

            An irrational anger surged wildly in her heart.  How dare he forgive her so easily!   Were her skills so laughable, so useless that any failure was readily accepted?  Was she so weak that she was never expected to protect anyone at all?  She struggled in vain against his grip, gritting her teeth in barely restrained fury.  And when she threw her head back to meet his eyes again she lashed out against him with all the feelings of guilt and inadequacy that were her endless torment.

            "Why are you here?!  What right do you have to forgive me?!  I failed Kaoru, I failed Kenshin, I failed _you!  Why won't you condemn me?  Why won't you blame me or be mad at me?  Am I so unworthy of your judgment?"  Sudden tears welled in her eyes.  "__Why aren't you angry?"_

            He pulled her abruptly against him, so suddenly and so fiercely that she felt the rough wool of his coat against her cheek, heard the intense pounding of his heart, sensed the tightly wound fury that thrummed beneath his skin.  For a startled moment she knew nothing else, felt nothing else, sensed nothing else, but Aoshi.

            His arms tightened almost painfully around her.  "It wasn't your fault," he spoke in a voice that shook with some barely controlled emotion.  "You didn't fail.  _It wasn't your fault, Misao."_

            The sound of her name called her out of her trance.  Her mind panicked, caught in such extreme claustrophobia that she felt almost nauseous.  _Too close!  He's too close!  If she stayed for a second longer in his arms she would drown in his sympathy and lose herself forever.  She snatched at any way to strike him, any way to make him let go.  He held firm despite curses and threats, a small hail of fists and feet.  She sought desperately for something that would hurt him to the quick, that would cripple his unassailable strength and stop this bleeding of her soul into his._

            "How dare you?" she railed, voice hoarse and suddenly filled with despair.  "How dare you touch me when you know nothing about me anymore?"

            He released her so suddenly that she almost fell.  The clearing was at once so eerily quiet that only the harsh gasps of their breathing echoed in the still air.  Her arrow had struck its target.

            Not daring to look at him, she fled.  But even through the hot tears that blurred her vision of everything else, she could still see the image of Aoshi standing alone in the forest clearing.

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Short.  Meant to be longer ~ but this just seemed the right place to stop.  Next chapter will be on its way soon!  Thank you for all of your comments; they are, quite simply, the biggest reward any author can hope for.


	16. The Silence of Lightning

**Chapter 3 ~ The Silence of Lightning**

            When Misao finally fell, she had expected nothing to greet her but the harsh shock of the cement path.  Instead, she was caught by a pair of strong arms, arms whose shape and touch were as familiar to her as their owner's face, arms that had held her through countless sorrows, whose comfort she did not deserve but was always freely given.  They were Sanosuke's arms.

            "Misao!" His voice was harsh with fear and confusion, his eyes dark and worried, absent any trace of his usual boyishness.

            As always, Sano's presence seemed to unlock even the most tightly held floodgates within Misao.  She could never hide anything from him; it was as if his very voice resonated deep and true, demanding nothing less than complete honesty.  This time was no different…even if she could have stemmed the uncontrollable flow of her tears.

            "Sano-nii!" she choked out, then sank to her knees, overcome by weeping.  _Please, please take this pain away.  She felt as if any minute now she would burst from the maelstrom of guilt and grief that stormed inside her._

            His heart skipped painfully at the old nickname, but he brushed aside such selfish concerns for later.  She hadn't called him that in years, and he knew that she only used it when she was extremely distressed.  In fact, the last time she had cried like this was when…

            He sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly finding it hard to keep a calm face.  _What did that bastard do this time?_  He crouched in front of Misao and took her gently by the shoulders, but when she cringed at the expression in his eyes he knew that he was doing a poor job of pushing the anger down.  "It was Shinomori, wasn't it?"

            His voice was only quiet like that when he was really angry.  "No!" She grasped his arms in alarm and denial.  "No…it was me.  It was me!"  Oh, would the tears ever stop!  It was like one of those nightmares when she cried so much that she couldn't breathe.  "I hurt him, Sano.  I said such ha-hateful things to him, when he was just trying to help me!"  A fresh wave of grief threatened to consume her.  He eased her into the circle of his arms, smoothing her hair with tender, reassuring motions.  She sobbed against his shoulder.  "You should've seen the lo-look in his eyes…so hurt, so con-confused!  How could I have said those things?!"

            "Oh, Misao." _Did she know just how much those words hurt him__?  But he only held her more tightly, and if he did so to soothe the unspoken words in his own heart, neither of them was aware._

            The low, smooth timbre of his voice quieted her misery; gradually her trembling ceased and the choking sensation receded from her chest.  Sano was not so fortunate.  Through the suffocating haze of rage all he could focus on were two things ~ getting Misao home, and making Shinomori pay.

            He kissed her softly on the top of her hair, then helped her get up, careful of her injuries.  They were worse than he'd expected, and those bandages definitely needed to be changed.  He scowled darkly.  Kenshin had told him that she was hurt ~ but not like this!  "Those gangsters better pray they never get out of prison," he muttered, keeping one arm firmly around Misao's waist.  

            She gazed at him solemnly, but with an unmistakable spark in her eyes.  "For their sake, I hope so too."  He only shook his head, secretly glad to see a little of her old spirit come back.  He would play big brother forever if it meant she could be happy.

            "Let's go home, Misao-chan."

            The water was hot, but he didn't notice.

            Aoshi stood under the relentless beating of the shower, head bowed and hands braced on the dark tile walls.  The jets of water struck without mercy, to fall in streams from his hair and down along his shoulders.  To mingle with the water on his face, so that even he couldn't tell if it was salty.

            Yet the water's thunder could not drown out the sound of her voice.

_            How dare you touch me when you know nothing about me anymore?_

            He didn't remember how long he had stood in that clearing after she'd gone, unmoving and blind to everything save the truth of that one question.  An overwhelming bitterness had possessed him, as those damning words replayed themselves over and over in his head.  What right did he have, indeed, when he had been the one to abandon her?  What right did he have to offer his comfort when he had caused her so much pain to begin with?  Where had he been all those years, when she was happy, sad, angry or lonely?  Where had he been for all the milestones, small and large, of those eight years of her life?

            In sudden rage he slammed his fist into the wall, the satisfying crack of the breaking tile a small comfort to his frustration.  His chest heaved with the effort it took to control his emotions, his face struggling to form the well-practiced mask of indifference he presented to the world.  

            Though in the end, the doorbell was what finally compelled him to leave the shower.  He toweled off and threw on a pair of loose pants, even as the polite rings turned into insistent pounding.   Pounding that was accompanied, and explained, by the sound of Sagara Sanosuke's loud voice.

            Sano was just contemplating how many different ways he would like to break the door down when it was suddenly thrown open.  And when he saw Shinomori standing on the other side, he strode in without hesitation and punched him in the face.

            Aoshi made no sound, merely righted his head as if registering no impact on his jaw.  His eyes narrowed dangerously, in an expression that would have made most men quake and run.  But he'd also made no attempt to defend himself or fight back ~ almost as if he could anticipate what Sano had to say.

            "That was for Misao."  Sano wasn't done yet.  He raised his hand again, "And this is for m-"

            Aoshi caught his hand mid-strike.  "Now that," his voice was low, but the threat it contained made even Sano pause, "requires explanation."

            The younger man made a disgusted noise and threw off his arm.  "Fine, we'll talk," he spat out.  "For her sake.  Although I'm itching for a good fight."

            Aoshi merely leaned back against the wall and waited.  Sano took a moment to examine the expression on his face, noticing with his usual acuteness the shadowy, guarded look in his eyes and the dark circles that signaled deep exhaustion.  The fact that Aoshi was moving with less than his usual speed also told him that something was definitely wrong.  Sano almost felt concerned, but then the image of a crying Misao flashed into his mind and wiped away any charitable thoughts.

            "What did you say to her?" He demanded roughly.

            "That is none of your concern." Aoshi answered in that maddeningly cool tone of his.

            Sano snarled.  "Then I'll make it my concern!  Anything that involves Misao involves me just as much.  What the hell did you do to her this time, Shinomori?"

            "I repeat: it's none of your business, Sagara."

            His fists clenched as if ready to strike out again.  "Damn it Shinomori!  Don't you think you've hurt her enough for one lifetime?  Do you need her to waste another eight years of her life waiting for you?  Do you think you could just barge back in and find that nothing has changed?  That she'd fall right back into your arms and pretend nothing ever went wrong?  That you never left her without a word of explanation or even saying goodbye?" He was shouting now.  "Do you think you could ever make up for all the wrong you've done her, all the times you made her cry?"

            "I…don't."  And the tone of his voice made Sano stop.  Some of the heat in his eyes dissipated when he looked at the taller man, at the stiffness in his posture and the tension in his hands.

            He sighed.  Aoshi was in no condition to fight now, and what Sano wanted was a fair fight.  Besides, he still needed to check back on Misao.  He turned around to leave.

            "Is she…all right?"  The question was so quiet, but the force behind it made the words almost vibrate.

            A pause.  Then, "Yes.  She's visiting the Himuras at the hospital right now."

            He did not see that after the door closed, Shinomori Aoshi slid down to slump against the wall with his head in his hands.  Nor did he hear the whispered thank you that dissolved, traceless, into the air.

            Misao paused outside Kaoru's hospital room, hands tightening unconsciously around the bouquet of pink roses and lilies-of-the-valley.  Through the half-open door she could look, unnoticed, into the small but cozy room, now awash in the warm afternoon sunlight that shone through a single large window.  Perhaps it was the quality of this golden light that gave the room its uncharacteristic cheer, or the presence of the two lovers in its illumination and their almost tangible hopes and dreams.  Once more she felt as a spectator of an enchanting play, herself having no part to take in this scene of contentment yet still moved by the richness of its weave and color.  For a moment she hesitated, unwilling to intrude upon Kenshin and Kaoru who, holding hands, seemed to be in the middle of an intimate, private conversation.

            But she had words of her own that needed to be said.  She smoothed her hair and took a deep steadying breath, then knocked softly on the glass-paneled door.

            They both turned at once, with identical smiles of welcome, almost as if they were expecting her.  She walked slowly towards them, holding the flowers like a sacred offering while taking refuge in their subtle cloud of fragrance.  Kenshin rose wordlessly and took them from her; the gratitude in his gentle violet eyes extended far beyond the acceptance of a simple bouquet.  He laid one hand upon her shoulder ~ its warmth made her forget the pain of her injuries ~ and gave her a rare glimpse of his heart, completely bared.  He let her see thankfulness for a life saved, a family protected, a dream salvaged from the edges of darkness; he let her feel the respect and admiration of a fellow warrior.  And he readily accepted her mistakes, easing a little the crushing burden of guilt she carried.  There were no words in the silent exchange, but her eyes were shimmering when he finally stepped past her and out of the room.

            She turned tremulously towards Kaoru, momentarily unable to speak.  The older girl simply smiled and opened her arms, and that was enough.  In two faltering steps, before the tears overcame her completely, she reached the bed and fell into Kaoru's embrace.

            "I'm sor…so s-sorr…I'm so sorr-"

            "Shh…" Kaoru held her tenderly, her own voice hushed with emotion.  "It's all right, Misao-chan.  Everything's going to be okay."

            Misao shook her head stubbornly, unwilling to let go of her guilt.  She lifted a tear-stained face to look imploringly at her cousin, "But you were hurt, and the baby-"

            "-will be perfectly healthy." Kaoru finished for her, in a tone that brooked no argument but shook with underlying amusement.  "Just like his mother, thanks to you."  

            Sobering, she gazed with serious eyes at Misao.  "Please stop blaming yourself for what happened.  You took more than your share of injuries for my ~ our ~ sake, and we don't even have enough words to express our gratitude, let alone think it your fault.  If anything, I should have done more to _help, rather than stand aside like some defenseless maiden in distress."_

            The thought of Kaoru being a maiden in distress brought sudden mirth bubbling to Misao's lips, which curved into the first genuine smile she'd worn since the attack.  At the sight of Kaoru's vaguely puzzled expression the smile stretched into a grin, the kind of mischievous, playful, dazzlingly impetuous grin only Misao could manage.  Kaoru couldn't help but laugh at that.

            "It's good to see my old Misao back," she proclaimed, with a profound sense of relief at having avoided some unimaginable disaster.  "I was afraid that we'd lost you to the dark side."

            Misao's answering laughter was music to the ears.  "What?  And give up on me so easily?"  Her eyes lighted with a sudden realization.  "Kaoru, did I just hear you call the baby a…_he?"_

            "Oh, yes!  I almost forgot to tell you!  The doctors found out from all the tests they did to make sure that we were okay ~ it's a boy!"

            Misao clapped her hands together in excitement.  "That's wonderful!  Now you can start thinking of names, and I can indulge in all the baby-boy shopping a loving aunt can do."

            Kaoru blushed in pleasure.  "Actually, Kenshin and I have already decided on a name.  We're going to call him Kenji."

            "Kenji." She spoke the name softly, reverently, letting it linger on her tongue.  "Kenji.  Born to carry on the way of the sword, the honor and love of his father and mother.  It suits him perfectly."

            The sunlight gilded her wondering eyes, still sparkling with traces of tears, and teased the corners of her thoughtful smile.  Over Misao's shoulders Kaoru exchanged a silent look with her husband; he nodded, relieved, then stepped quietly into the room.

            "Thank you, Misao-dono," Kenshin's low voice carried through her reverie.  "We're glad you approve."

            They were rewarded by her clear, impulsive laugh.  She stood up and gave Kenshin a fierce hug, inherited from the infamous Okina.  "Congratulations, Himura."  

            Releasing him before he suffocated, Misao winked and picked up her bag.  "I'll be back!" she said in mock warning.  "In the meantime, take care of each other."

            "We will," assured Kaoru, patting her husband sympathetically.  "Now go home and get some rest."

            She gave no reply and made no promises.  For there was somewhere else she still needed to go.

            Alone at his window, Aoshi watched the setting sun being overcome by an ominous bank of thick, black clouds.  As darkness set in, so did an oppressive feeling of dread that did nothing to lighten the bleak mood of his day.

            The doorbell rang.  He frowned, then crossed the room on soundless feet to open the door.

            His frown deepened.  His voice sounded harsh even to his own ears.

            "What are you doing here?"  

            Lightning flashed.

            "Aoshi, darling, aren't you glad to see me?"

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Bonus points to anyone who can guess who _that is.  That was a very evil thing to do now, wasn't it?  I have a feeling that the story is just getting interesting.  *lol* It certainly took me long enough!_

This chapter is dedicated to Tessira Aleyn ~ in the hopes that you'll reclaim that inspiration and start writing Aoshi/Misao stories again!  I have read your writing so many times that I have your stories practically memorized.  There is absolutely too little ~ please, please grace us with more!

Thank you to all those who have read and reviewed.  I love reading your thoughts!


	17. Arashi

**Chapter 4 ~ Arashi**

He was silent, his eyes cold and unaccommodating.  Megumi fidgeted under the intensity of his hostile glare, but she could not see the weariness that lurked underneath.  He was tired, so tired that he wanted nothing more than to sink into a dreamless slumber and escape unwanted intruders and accusing voices.  But his feelings were not for her to see.

            "Well?" She tried to cover her nervousness with a suggestive voice, but her tone turned sarcastic when he failed to respond.  "Really, Aoshi, I just need to use your bathroom."

            He almost didn't let her in, but manners could not be ignored.  Megumi could almost see him relent.  _Always the perfect gentleman.  He stepped silently out of the way and she breezed through, flashing him a dazzling smile over her shoulder whose effects were, sadly, completely lost._

            He was so exhausted that he missed the predatory gleam in her eyes.

            _Shinomori__ Aoshi, no way am I letting go of you that easily._

            Misao walked with a determined step all the way to the front of the apartment building, afraid that courage would fail her and make her flee.  At the imposing glass doors, she stopped, for the first time aware of the pounding of her heart and an almost exhilarating sense of excitement that surged through every fiber of her being.  

            There was so much she needed to tell him, so many misunderstandings that still stood between them.  But she was confident that they could all be swept away like the harmless threads of a spider's web.

_            This is right_, she suddenly realized.  _Being here, it's just…right.  And the thrill of that discovery demolished all fear and carried her through the entrance._

            She arrived just as he was closing the door.  She called out, eagerness infusing every syllable of his name.

            "Aoshi!"

            The door flew open, and he was there.  Blue eyes crashed against blue like the edges of two meeting waves.  When they receded, it was with a knowledge too sweet for words.

            _I'm so sorry._

_            I forgive you._

            Her eyes were shining, her lips beginning to curve into a smile.  She was just about to step into his long-awaited embrace, into the arms that would carry her into another world.

            Then she looked over his shoulder.

            Lightning flashed, illuminating the frozen scene with an eerie blue glow.

            Takani Megumi stood just behind him, dressed in a revealing slip of scarlet silk, her long black hair unbound and flowing over her bare shoulders.  And on her face, a fierce, triumphant smile.  She laid one hand possessively on Aoshi's shoulder, the gesture so easy and intimate that it _hurt to see it._

            "Konbanwa, Makimachi-san."

            In her paralysis, Misao saw nothing.  Not the confusion that leapt into Aoshi's eyes, not the stiffening of his body when he sensed the third presence, not the alarm that froze his features into a fearfully blank mask.  She could only remind herself to breathe.

            Thunder roared, so loud that Megumi gave a little start.  But it was enough to awaken Misao.

            The blindness cleared from her eyes, leaving them clear as ice.  She took a small step backwards, mentally poised to run.  Outwardly, she was deathly calm, summoning every last shred of her training to shut off every single part of her that could still feel.  She was the very image of detached courtesy when she inclined her head towards Megumi, her voice strong and cold as steel.

            "Good evening, Takani-san.  I'm sorry to have interrupted, but I only came to give some documents to Shinomori-san about the Yamada account."

            Like a marionette, she reached into her bag and took out the file of papers.  Turning towards Aoshi, she forced the file into his hand and looked him straight in the face.  But she made sure that he would see nothing in her own.

            "If you have any questions, you can call my office."  Did that clipped, professional voice really belong to her?  Was that stretched, unnatural distortion of a smile really on her face?

            She was a marionette, but broken.  And as she turned at last to flee, she wondered just how much those motions would cost her.

            He stood still and unmoving until they both heard the clang of the closing elevator doors.

            Megumi smirked.  "Whew!  I'm glad _that_'s over.  No wonder they call her the Ice Prin-"

            Her words died when he turned to face her.  His eyes were filled with a fury so terrifying and violent that she shrank back and had to physically stop herself from cowering.

            His gaze flicked once over her attire, and she watched with horrified fascination as realization dawned.  He spun around, one foot already in the hallway.

            "Get out."

            And then he was gone, leaving only the scattered papers fluttering at her feet.

            The rain fell in pounding torrents, each drop striking her skin like a small, cold dagger.  Completely soaked and half-blinded by the storm, Misao let her feet carry her away by sheer instinct, not caring where they led.  She was grateful for the rain, for this blissful numbness that shut out all thought and feeling and the choking sense of betrayal that threatened to overwhelm her completely.  Suddenly she stumbled against a raised step; throwing her hands out to catch her fall, she felt instead the stone and iron of a bridge railing.  She straightened up and slowly took in her surroundings, recognition flooding her with painful memories as she saw the familiar lights of the Jefferson Memorial.

            Footsteps sounded behind her.  She did not need to see to know who it was, but she couldn't face him, yet.

            "Don't." He stopped at her low warning.  Even through the storm she could feel his silent, unmoving presence behind her, at once infinitely frightening and infinitely reassuring.

            "There is nothing between Megumi and me.  There never was." His voice was steady, but she could feel the tension thrumming just beneath its smooth surface.  "There was never anyone else."

            She considered this for a moment, then nodded wordlessly.  She could accept that.  Just as there had been no one else for her, either.  She had never known Aoshi to speak a single falsehood, and however much she would have liked to act the petulant child and push all the blame onto him, she could do nothing but believe what he said.  The rational part of her knew that there must be an explanation for what she had seen at his apartment, that it would be unfair to deny him a defense.  But she was still too stung, too wounded, to be completely rational.

            Lightning flashed again, so close that she imagined she could feel the heat from its brilliance.  Her hands tightened on the bridge railing, desperate for an anchor to a sane, solid world.  Behind her closed eyelids the nightmare of the previous moments replayed itself in searing vividness, while a maelstrom of confused thoughts and startled emotions ripped and raged at her tenuous self-control.  And rising ominously from their midst, a stark spectre that had never seemed so solid as it did now, was the overpowering feeling of…

            "Misao." Low, but undeniable.

            …_fear._

            Slowly, carefully, she turned to face him, her expression still composed into a mask of cold indifference.  He was standing only steps away, so that she could see the raindrops sliding down his face, his hair, soaking his white shirt and dripping off its collar.  He was close enough so that, if she had been willing to, she could have witnessed each change of emotion in his unguarded eyes, each time their colors shifted hues, in a pattern of greys and azures she had once known so well.

            Still the distance between them was immense.  Her gaze remained focused on his shirt collar, her face frozen in that terrible soul-blinding blankness.

            "What are you afraid of?"

            The mask cracked a little.  She glanced up at him then, a startled question in her look, only to meet with the blazing heat in his own ~ fiery, scorching heat, fierce with otherworldly power and brilliance, like lightning itself in his eyes.  All the truth in his soul burned there for her to see, the passions bare and unhidden.  He never moved, never took a single step forward, but she was seized with a wild desire to run.

            _What are you afraid of?  He asked the question again, silent this time, that unbearable heat still burning in his eyes.  Imbued with all the force and desperation of the moment, it charged through the rain to shatter her mask.  Her defenses splintered into a million glittering pieces and melted into the driving rain._

            "I—I…" She could only shake her head, as she brought her hands up, trembling, for him to see.  Her eyes glimmered in an agony of confusion and helplessness.  "Aoshi…"

            In a single movement he crossed the distance between them.  And then all she knew were Aoshi's arms around her, Aoshi's hands on her back, Aoshi's heated skin against her own, Aoshi's heartbeat beneath her fingertips.  

            Aoshi's kiss on her lips.

            There was no holding back, no polite restraint, no careful consideration.  There was only the sensation of his lips on hers, passionate, possessive, heady as strong wine and turbulent as crashing thunder.  There were soaring heights, plunging depths, a universe of whirling stars, fire and wind and rain.  There was the sweetness of wild flowers, the tang of ocean spray, the crisp snow of Alpine peaks.  There were countless joys and sorrows, triumphs and failures, a lifetime of memories dazzling as jewels.  And glowing more brightly than anything else was a hope that refused to ever be extinguished.

            Kissing him was to be illuminated by his lightning, to feel its heat and brilliance setting her afire, branding her as his own.  Kissing him was never to be wholly herself again.  

            The first tear slipped through her eyelashes and slid down her cheek.

            "I love you."

            He spoke the words as a prayer against her lips.  And in doing so, he gave her the strength to push him away.

            "_No."_

            Misao would always remember with perfect clarity the exact instant at which she left his embrace, compelled by the devastating panic that streaked through her being when he said the words that would bind her to him forever.  And even though she tried her hardest to forget, she would always carry the image of Aoshi's face at the exact moment of her wounding him.

            They stood apart once more, breathing heavily and facing off as sudden opponents.  Aoshi's face was ghastly white, his eyes overrun by a gamut of confusion and hurt even as his body struggled for control.

            "Doushite?" The question came as a pained whisper.  His expression was terrible to see, but she forced herself to look at him unflinchingly when she delivered her answer.

            "Because I am afraid of losing myself."

            He laughed ~ a bitter, short bark that chilled her blood.  "Did you think that either of us was ever free?"  Those strange, wounded eyes lowered to look piercingly at her.  "You and I were lost long ago."

            With unspeakable sorrow, she stared at this Aoshi she did not know.  "You do not understand."  Her voice wavered for the first time.  "I'm so sorry."

            "I do not want apologies!"  His hands clenched into fists by his sides; the same quick anger stirred in Misao and made her reckless.

            _What are you afraid of?_

            "Why can't you understand?!  I _am_ afraid, Aoshi, absolutely terrified!  I am terrified of what we're rushing into, terrified that things won't work out, terrified of being left alone to pick up the pieces!  You don't know what it's like, to have built up your entire life and identity around one single person and to have that fall apart and be left with nothing.  Nothing!"  The words rose like poisoned barbs from the darkest part of her soul, as if they had lain in wait for this day.  "Eight years ago you disappeared.  But it wasn't just you that left, Aoshi.  You took a part of me away with you too, the most important part of me!  I didn't know _who I was after you were gone.  Do you have any idea what it's like to look in the mirror and see only shattered fragments of yourself?  Everything I saw, everything I did, everywhere I went ~ I knew them all in terms of _you_."  Her tears mingled with the rain on her face, her vision so blurred that she could no longer see him clearly.  "But you left.  And the old Makimachi Misao died.  I had to build a new one, piece by piece, and make sure that she depended on nobody but herself.  Because—because, I'm not sure that I would be strong enough to do it all again.  I never dreamt that I would ever see you again; I promised myself that I wouldn't _let_ it happen."  The old grief returned, as painful and poignant as it had always been.  She was wrong to have thought that she could forget.  "But here you are, and you have just said the three most important words I have ever wanted to hear in my life.  And already I can feel myself slipping away.  If even this misunderstanding with Megumi could hurt so deeply, I can't dare to imagine what would happen if—if you leave again-"_

            "I won't."  His tone was subdued, but not entirely free from reproach.  "Do you have that little faith in me?"

            She shook her head sadly.  "I don't know.  I thought that we just needed time, time to know each other again, to learn to trust each other and adjust to the changes in our lives.  But eight years ago I thought I knew you better than anyone else in the world.  People change, Aoshi, even when they've made the most steadfast promises.  And right now I can't afford to be broken again."

            The rain fell ceaselessly onto the old stone bridge, its beat no longer frenzied but steady with ageless sorrow.  For an endless moment, the two figures in its midst stood silent and unmoving, irrevocably caught between their past and future.  Unwilling to look back, and unable to move forward.

            "What do we do now?" And it broke her heart to hear the hope still lingering in his voice.

            She closed her eyes to steel herself, but really it was to memorize this last image of him standing before her.  _I'm sorry, Aoshi.  And when she opened them again, it was goodbye that shone from their depths._

            He did not speak; only a barely perceptible nod told her that he chose to respect her decision.  Not daring to stay for another instant, she turned to leave the bridge.

            But she was not far before his arms caught her from behind, pulling her backwards into an urgent embrace, his voice fierce and determined in her ear.

            "I will wait for you, Makimachi Misao.  I'll be right here, waiting for you to find your way back to me.  And then I will never let you go again.  As long as it takes, I'll wait."

            She stood still for a heartbeat, then slowly, gently, her hands eased his arms aside.  She did not look back as she walked away.

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This was one of the hardest chapters I have ever written.  All I can hope is that it did not disappoint you.  Feedback is very, very appreciated.  Thank you so much for reading ~ I'll try my hardest to post the next chapter soon.


	18. Awakening

**Part V ~ The End of the Dream**

**Chapter 1 ~ Awakening**

I awake light-hearted this morning of spring,

Everywhere round me the singing of birds—

But now I remember the night, the storm,

And I wonder how many blossoms were broken.

~ "A Spring Morning," Chinese poem

            In the rain, the city was devoid of light, of hope, of love.  In the rain, there was only darkness and sorrow.  In the rain, one walked with demons and unnamable fears through a nightmare terrifying in its reality.

            They both wandered, lost and alone, in the rain.

            Misao stood with the cherry trees by the lake, staring at the petals falling with the rain, their days of splendor already at an end.  In the aching loss she felt for their ephemeral beauty was a deeper mourning for the happiness, so vivid yet fleeting, that had touched her own life.  Could it only have been days ago that she had stood here with him, had laughed and danced with him?  Already this brief warmth that had flared so brilliantly was turning cold, beaten down by the relentless storm that drenched more than just her skin and clothing.  The inky blackness seemed to close in with ever more menace, leaving her adrift and abandoned like the sakura petals floating on the surface of the water.

            An old, old story came to mind, and in the haze of her own suffering its grief was only too easily recognized.  Her fingers trailed down the bark of the sakura tree as she slowly knelt amidst the scattered petals; unmindful of the mud, she dug with trembling hands a shallow trench at the tree's base.  Then she gathered the blossoms and buried them in their grave.

            And then she wept.

            That was how Sanosuke found her.  His heart bounded with mingled fear and relief when he saw her kneeling by the cherry tree; the vague feeling of unease that had plagued him all day and drove him to look for her intensified to alarm when she did not stir at his approach.

            "Misao."  He spoke gently, tentatively, afraid to startle her.  His throat tightened when he saw that she was weeping quietly, arms wrapped tightly around herself as if otherwise she would break.

            But she did not look startled when she lifted her head at his voice, or when she stood up stiffly to face him.  Her expression held nothing at all.

            _Oh my god._

            He dared not try to touch her, not even when recognition crept back into her eyes and he knew that she could see him.  She was too fragile for human contact.  He could only silently beseech her and wait with a patience he never knew he possessed, all the while aware that he had never been so terrified in his life.

            "Sano…" she whispered, her right hand hovering over her chest and closing over empty air.  "My…heart…"

            She swayed dangerously on her feet, those awful tortured eyes drifting closed and releasing him from their spell.  He sprang forward to catch her, breath coming out in a sharp hiss when he felt the fever burning on her skin.  The rain was freezing cold, and she was still injured.

            But physical wounds were nothing compared to a broken heart.

            _"Aoshi-niichan!"__ She ran, as she did every evening, to meet him coming back from practice.  Her small eight-year-old feet carried her out of Okina's schoolgates and along the path towards the island, to that corner of the road around which, like magic, he would appear at the end of the day.  Usually with cuts and scrapes to be bandaged, of course, but he would be proud of them as the well-won symbols of a hard lesson learned.  And, unbeknownst to the others, he would always bring back presents for her, so that the daily speculation of what his next "surprise" would be was an activity of immense enjoyment to the free-spirited girl._

_            What would Aoshi-niichan bring her today?  She couldn't wait to find out.  In her reckless hurry she didn't see the branch that lay in her way and tripped badly, falling forward to land with a hard smack on the hard earthen floor._

_            "Ouch!" She sat up, frowning with childish resentment at her skinned knees and trying not to mind the way they stung.  Aoshi-niichan never cried when he was hurt, even when he was bleeding.  She had to be strong like him too ~ she couldn't let him see her cry at such a stupid, embarrassing fall.  But an injured pride, combined with the stinging from her scrapes, was too much for the sensitive little girl.  No matter how hard she tried to hold them back, the tears gathered in her eyes and spilled down her flushed cheeks; and how horrible it was that the more she tried not to cry, the faster they fell!_

_            "Misao-chan!" There he was!  And Aoshi-niichan looked so scared ~ she had never seen him scared before.  Why did she have to be so clumsy and fall?  She didn't want Aoshi-niichan to think she was weak!  But she couldn't stop crying._

_            "Ao-Aoshi-nii…gomen…I-I'm so stu-stupid!" _

_            But Aoshi-niichan didn't look angry or disappointed ~ he was just wiping her tears away, with hands soft and gentle despite their calluses.  She was in awe of his sword calluses; when Jiya decided that she was old enough for kunai, she wanted calluses just like his!  The tears subsided a little and she watched him tie his favorite handkerchief around the knee that was worse-off.  She didn't want to make it dirty ~ it was his favorite! ~ but…she could make him a new one!  Her eyes lit up with determination and she forgot her embarrassment._

_            "Aoshi-niichan, arigatou gozaimasu!"_

_            He laughed at her solemn formality and pulled her to her feet.  "You don't need to thank me, Misao-chan.  We're always here to help each other, right?"_

_            She nodded eagerly in response.  "Always, Aoshi-niichan!  I promise!"_

_            He laughed again ~ she loved it when Aoshi-niichan laughed like this, but he never did it in front of the others ~ and handed her a sprig of blush-pink cherry blossoms.  She exclaimed in delight, and he knew then that it was well-worth the climb up the old sakura to get the first bloom of the season._

_            "As long as the sakura shall bloom, Misao-chan, we'll always be here for each other!"_

_            Dusk in Okina's garden, and he was still not home.  She shifted impatiently at her spot by the gate, idly playing with her long braid.  He always stayed so long at practice now, and there was a restlessness lurking in his eyes that he tried to hide even from her.  She desperately wanted to know what was troubling him, but somehow she felt instinctively that she could not question him outright like she did with everything else.  There was distance now where none had existed before, and she felt helpless to cross the chasm that separated them.  But she couldn't just watch him walk away...he was too much a part of her…they were too much a part of _each other_…_

_            He appeared silently around the corner, and as always she ran forward with her welcome.  And for a moment, as she threw her arms around his neck and felt his smile on her skin, she could forget everything else._

_            "We'll always be here for each other, right?"_

_            There was a brief pause that stopped her heart, but then she felt him nod against her shoulder and all her doubts were swept away.  Aoshi would never leave her…and she, she would stay by his side forever._

_            She heard the clatter of the blades before anything else.  Through the veil of her hair she saw, with astonished recognition, the afternoon sunshine striking the dark surface of the sheathed blades and illuminating them with its molten fire.  And the power of memory took hold as she trembled in mingled fear and anticipation of what she knew was to come next._

_            But memory played her false this time.  There was no kiss, no surrender.  When she looked up the Aoshi that stood before her was not the Aoshi of eight years ago, but the Aoshi she had said goodbye to in the rain.  The Aoshi whose heart she had broken, whose pain was etched in every plane of his pale, pale face, whose eyes held such disbelief and suffering that she knew she could never forget them.  And when he spoke, his words were a ghostly echo of the past that twisted the knife in her heart._

_            "We'll always be together, right?"_

            Misao woke with a gasp, clutching reflexively at her chest and finding the blanket covering her instead.  The covers were heavy and warm, but somehow she still shivered with cold.  She sat up slowly, wincing with each movement of her sore muscles, and took in the familiar surroundings of her apartment.  It was late afternoon, and evening shadows were already lengthening across the room.  She was in her own bed, but she was not alone.

            Sano sat dozing in a chair by her side, his upper body leaned forward and his head pillowed on his arms, which rested on the edge of the bed.  He looked haggard and worn, with deep shadows under his closed eyes and a frown line marring his forehead.  Without thinking she reached forward to smooth it away, her fingers light on his skin.

            But his eyes opened at her first touch, and he sat up so quickly that he almost fell off the chair.  "Misao!  You're awake!" His expression was dark with worry, and he hovered over her protectively.  "How are you feeling?  Does it hurt anywhere?"

            She gave him a weak smile.  "I'm fine," she lied.  "I've survived worse.  How long have I been lying here?"

            He saw how tightly she held the covers and wondered what else she was hiding.  The fever still had not broken.  "Almost three days.  You've been running a dangerously high temperature.  The doctor's been here twice."

            Her eyes widened in amazement.  "Three days?!  I've missed _that much?"  She made an impatient gesture and tried to get out of bed, but the slightest movement set the world spinning.  Her legs felt weak and useless, her feet numb.  Sano's steadying arms seemed to be her only anchor to safety.  When she looked up she saw, with some apprehension, the tight grim line of his lips and the turmoil of worry in his face.  But his voice when he spoke was still gentle._

            "Don't try to move.  Your body needs rest."

            "But—"

            "Don't try to argue with me right now, Makimachi Misao."  His brown eyes shone with a light she could not fathom; kneeling in front of her, he touched his forehead softly to hers and continued in a lower voice, "Please, just let me take care of you."

            Tears of gratitude and remorse sprung to her eyes, as she whispered back, "Thank you."

            "There's never been any need for that between us."  He smiled that sweet, wistful smile she loved and helped her settle back into bed.  "Now be a good girl and go to sleep."

            She murmured in sudden drowsiness, glancing up at him through heavy lashes as she drifted off, "I never knew you could be such a good nurse, Sano."

            "Only for you, babe, only for you."

            _He came silently through the light-flooded forest, to meet her at the old clearing where they practiced.  His twin kodachi were slung in a single sheath over his back, and he wore his old uniform.  But the only thing she noticed was the absence of shadows from his eyes and the smile that they held only for her._

_            She grinned at him in open challenge and brandished one of her kunai.  He nodded in answer and unsheathed his kodachi.  All around them hung the comforting, familiar tension of fair sparring and years of practice such as this.  They understood each other completely, knew the routine inside and out ~ but the thrill of it still sang in their blood._

_            With a cry she threw out her kunai, its aim deadly accurate even if she knew that it would be useless before his kodachi._

_            But she never heard it hit the ground.  His blades fell, instead._

_            With infinite horror she stared at him, her brain uncomprehending what her eyes beheld.  And as the scream of denial echoed behind her soundless lips her sanity shattered and her universe turned to dust._

_            Her kunai had buried itself in his heart.  He had let go of his kodachi without any defense._

_            Why, why, why? spilled forth in a litany of anguish even as his lifeblood flowed through her useless fingers.  She held him cradled in her lap and felt her life ending with every drop of his.  His face was wet with her tears, his hands weak as he touched her face and held his palm to her cheek.  But his eyes were brilliant blue._

_            "Misao…Aishiteru."  And then the eyes were forever closed and he lay lifeless in her arms._

_            No!_  She sat up abruptly in bed, drenched in a cold sweat and shaking uncontrollably.  The terror of her dream enclosed her in a chill prison of dread and guilt.  _No, Aoshi, no!_  She knew instinctively that the dream was some kind of warning ~ Aoshi must be in terrible danger, or pain, and she needed to see him or she would lose him forever.  What had happened between them lost all its meaning in the face of this new, immediate threat; she did not care if he should look upon her with scorn or anger.  All she wanted was to see him and make sure he was all right.

            Her illness forgotten, her body drawing on some deep reserve of endurance, Misao hastily grabbed a long coat and headed towards the door.  When she walked through the living room she saw that Sano was stretched out, sleeping, on the sofa.  She paused for a moment at his side, her eyes clouding as she pulled the fallen blanket over him and tucked it around his shoulders.

            _I'm sorry, Sano.  I don't deserve what you do for me._

            Then the door was closing quietly, and she was gone.

            She walked without hesitation through the darkening streets, with only one purpose in mind.  All she needed was to see him again.  Nothing else mattered as long as he was safe and well.  The fever still raged in her body, but this time it was giving her strength.

            His door was closed this time.  No matter ~ she rang the doorbell and waited.  She would wait forever if she needed to.

            But she never dreamed that Takani Megumi would be the one to open the door.

            "What do you want?"  The taller woman's voice was dripping with scorn, her brows drawn in a fierce frown, her eyes dark and thunderous.  In place of the seductive negligee she wore a simple shirt and pants, but somehow in this guise she was infinitely more frightening.  

            Her shock made it almost impossible to reply.  Gone were her self-assurance, her mask of cool indifference, her ability to protect herself from this angry woman.  Her strength had abandoned her at the instant of Megumi's appearance; she was suddenly so weak that she could barely stand.  But she forced her voice to be steady, though she knew that all her emotions were bare and vulnerable on her face.

            "I need to see Aoshi."  Even now, it was that simple and that strong.

            Megumi's face only darkened in fury, as she stood unmoving in the doorway.  "You don't have a right," she ground out between clenched teeth.  Her voice burned harsh and unforgiving.  "Don't you think you've hurt him enough?  Haven't you caused him enough pain for this lifetime?  What makes you think you can just waltz back into his life any time you choose to?  You forfeited your place in his life when you left him, when you refused his love and broke his heart!  _You have no right!_"

            "None, perhaps, except for the right of loving him."  And as she spoke she knew that it was the truth.  She loved Aoshi, had always loved Aoshi, would never love anyone but Aoshi.  From beginning to end, just Aoshi and Misao.  That was all she ever needed.

            But Megumi no longer seemed angry.  In fact, she was smiling ~ a terrifying distorting grin full of malice and scathing pity.  "You're too late, Makimachi Misao.  He never wants to see you again."

            The words lashed across her consciousness like a whip, but she stood firm.  "I must see Aoshi."  Something in her eyes and voice must have been convincing, for after a short pause Megumi moved aside.

            "Then see him.  Maybe then you'll understand why he will never see you again."  There was a mocking, knowing tone to her words that chilled Misao's blood.  What did she mean?  What had happened to Aoshi?  Trying not to reveal her apprehension, she walked past Megumi into the apartment.  But he was not in the living room.  She stopped short, confused.

            "Try his bedroom."  Megumi had walked in after her, and now stood with her arms crossed over her chest.

            There was a rising tide of panic now that she tried desperately to control.  Her movements were stiff and brittle as she followed Megumi's directions.  And then the rest of the world fell away when she saw him.

            Aoshi lay sick and agitated in bed, more helpless than Misao had ever seen him.  His face was flushed with fever, his body wracked by tremors and covered with a fine sheen of sweat.  The blankets were tumbled across his feet, and she watched frozen as his face contorted in grimaces of terrible suffering.  She knew what he was feeling, because she was feeling it herself.  Every beat of her heart pounded in acute synchrony with his; every sensation he battled assaulted her with twice the force.

            "Is this what you mean by loving him?"  Megumi asked quietly, her voice stripped of disdain and made powerful by its conviction.  She walked forward to kneel by Aoshi's side, drawing up his blankets in the first tender touch she had ever shown Misao.  "Is this what you mean by love?  Do you have any idea how deeply you have wounded him, how much pain you have caused him by breaking his heart?"  A touch of bitterness crept into her voice.  "In all the time I have known Aoshi, he has never let anyone in close enough to hurt him.  He was always a mystery, always aloof from everyone else.  If anyone tried to offer him friendship, or even companionship, she would be politely shoved aside and shut out of the glass cage he lived in.  We were all on the outside, looking in, while he simply locked himself away."  She looked up at Misao, eyes lit with righteous fire, and slowly stood up.  "Now I know why.  He did it all for _you, because of you.  __You were the secret pain he was living with all that time, and just when you had led him on enough to think that you cared you break him again.  You have power, indeed, power over his entire life.  And yet you use that power to hurt him, to make him feel __this."  She gestured towards the bed.  "I ask you again, Miss Makimachi: _is this what you mean by love?_  _Is this how you love him?_"_

            Misao felt the wall rise behind her and only then realized that she had been steadily backing away from Megumi's advance.  She had nothing to say to Megumi's words; her vision swam with the waves of shame that rose and dizzily rose as each accusation struck her soul with the final ring of truth.  There was no defense, no clever arbitrage, against this stranger's prosecution.  She knew and accepted her verdict.

            "You have no right to say you love Aoshi, because _you don't know what love is.  You don't know how to love.  And you will only hurt him more if you don't give him up, to those of us who would never hurt him and would cherish him above all else."  Megumi leaned forward, close enough for Misao to feel the force of her breath.  "Because __I love him, and I will never let you hurt him again."_

            As if she had been physically pushed, Misao moved unseeingly past Megumi and towards the front door.  Halfway to the threshold she felt Megumi's detaining hand on her arm; she turned woodenly, not caring what other punishments the woman would inflict.

            "Here," something soft and white was pressed into her palm.  "Aoshi wanted me to give this back to you."  She looked down ~ it was the handkerchief she had made for him.  

_            You're too late, Makimachi Misao.  He never wants to see you again._

            "Don't worry.  I'm going to take better care of him than you ever did."  And she did not need to see Megumi to read the triumph in her eyes.

            _Sayonara, Aoshi._

            He stirred from a fevered dream, murmuring her name.  Was he still dreaming, or could he sense her presence in the room, smell her scent in the air?  If she was here—if she was here, then he could tell her again, tell her that he loved her, that he would wait for her forever if he needed to.  Of course she was here.  She had to have come, she had to know that he was ill, she would never abandon him when he needed her so!

            "Misao?"  And the woman watching over him promised that he would never say that name again.

            "She's not here, Aoshi.  She said she never wants to see you again."

            Then, for the first time in his life, he let himself cry.

Asleep in spring I did not heed the dawn

Till the birds broke out singing everywhere.

Last night, in the clamour of wind and rain,

How many flowers have fallen 

do you suppose?

~ "Spring Dawn" (alternate translation), Chinese poem

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Explanations will come!  Thank you for your patience and reviews ~ they give me such determination to continue this story and see it through to the end.

Can anyone tell me why I'm having such trouble with proper spacing in uploading to fanfiction.net?  And I can't believe they changed my author name!  But, I will always remain ~

Yours, Mikomi


	19. After the Blossoms

**Chapter 2 ~ After the Blossoms**

Makimachi Misao had been utterly defeated.  Megumi tasted the sweetness of victory on her lips and, for a moment, indulged in the memory of seeing all the hope drain out of her opponent's eyes.  Then her gaze returned to Aoshi and softened with rare tenderness, as she gently wiped the two trails of wetness from his face.  A slight frown creased her perfect brows at the sight of the tear tracks; she had not seen them appear ~ in fact, she never once remembered seeing Aoshi moved to any extremes of emotion.  The man barely smiled.

            What kind of unthinkable cruelty could have driven Shinomori Aoshi to tears?  Her eyes narrowed.  It could only be _her.  Again Megumi congratulated herself on ridding Aoshi's life of this menace; she knew with a woman's intuition and pride that Makimachi Misao would never willingly draw near him again.  Not when she thought that he had ceased caring for her.  The handkerchief had been a stroke of genius.  And she did not feel herself to have been cruel when she was so sure that it would ultimately be good for Aoshi to forget about the girl._

            How close she had come to giving him up altogether!  Megumi drew in a sharp breath of relief.  She had stomped out furiously from his apartment after his inconsiderate departure, swearing to herself that she would never be so humiliated again.  She was done with the icy man, even if he was the most beautiful creature she had ever set eyes on.  There were plenty of other fish in the sea, plenty of eager men who would have thrown themselves at her feet at the lift of a finger.  She could do just as well elsewhere.

            To let off steam, she had chosen to walk around by way of the lake, and it was there, on the bridge, that she saw them.  At first she had scoffed in disgust and made to hurry past, but then she had seen the girl turn around and walk away, and had stopped, intrigued.  She had expected a lovers' reunion ~ so why the scene of misery?  When Aoshi suddenly reached out, lightning fast, to hold the girl back, she had only grown more confused.  What was happening?

            But then Misao had pushed his arms aside, had moved away.  And Megumi could suddenly see the expression on Aoshi's face.

            It was a look that froze her to the spot.  Her umbrella slipped from numb fingers and she never felt the rain striking her skin.  All she could see was the unbearable grief on his face ~ pain and despair beyond anything a person should ever have to endure.  Then an utterly new sensation had flooded her limbs as she realized that Makimachi Misao had broken Shinomori Aoshi's heart.

            Megumi had never seen a broken heart before; as a medical student, she knew that such things were only a figure of speech.  Yet she had absolutely no doubt that she was seeing one now.

            She had run forward as soon as the Makimachi girl was out of sight, filled with an irrepressible need to make sure that he survived.  For she knew that it was a matter of survival at that instant, not merely comfort or consolation.  But he had stood motionless before her, blind to her presence and deaf to her pleading, as still and silent as a statue.  It was as if she wasn't there at all.  And then, without a word, he had turned and walked away.

            Terror she had never known before had seized her then, and made her follow him, trailing behind his tall form as he walked like a dead man in the rain.  He wandered aimlessly along the city streets, not caring which direction he headed and oblivious to his surroundings.  Nor did he care that she continued to follow him.  Somehow they ended up back at his apartment building, both soaked to the skin ~ but he had made no move to enter.  She tried begging with him then, yelling at him, throwing random threats about his health and sanity, anything to get him out of the rain, all to no avail.  He simply failed to respond.  

            She knew, on some level, that he would only recognize one person at that moment, and that person was not her.  So she stopped speaking and bodily dragged him into the building.  He did not resist.  It was as if the real Aoshi had already died, leaving behind an empty shell of a man who breathed but did not live.  

            Later, when the fever set in, she could only sit at his bedside and watch him toss and turn.  She had done everything possible for him medically, but the real sickness lay in his heart, and that door was sealed before her.

            She had never felt so helpless in her life.  And just when she was raging at herself for being unable to help him she had seen the handkerchief clutched in his hand.  Makimachi Misao's handkerchief ~ Megumi was sure of that ~ with the characters of his name boldly proclaiming her hold upon his soul.  The sight of the simple silk square with its emblazoned claim set loose a wave of fury more intense than anything she had ever felt for anyone, so strong that it left her breathless.  _How dare she?  How dare she hurt him like this?  And so, with all the aggrieved outrage of the jealous woman, Takani Megumi had sworn that Misao would never be allowed near him again._

            Well, she had succeeded.

            A loud pounding shook her thoughts and recalled her senses.  Frowning, she stalked to the door and flung it open.

            "I thought I told you not to—" But it was not Misao who stood in the doorway.  Megumi's voice died on her lips.

            His breathing was ragged, his face lined with exhaustion, as if he had just run a great distance.  But the fear and worry shone clear from his dark eyes, as did the suppressed desperation buried just beneath.  His voice when he spoke was dangerously low.

            "Where is she?"  Sagara Sanosuke demanded evenly, hands shaking with barely restrained tension.  His eyes flickered in recognition of the woman standing before him and filled with a menacing light.  "What are _you doing here?  What have you done to Misao?"  He suddenly grabbed her shoulders in a vise-like grip.  "She was here, wasn't she?  _What did you do to her?_"_

            His hands tightened painfully and she winced, but did not back down.  "Only what she deserved."

            Rage exploded in the man opposite her and Megumi shrank back, only to realize that it was not wholly directed at her.  "Shinomori…you _bastard_," his words shook with fury. "I'm going to kill you."  He flung her aside and made for the inner rooms, heedless of her cries.

            "Please!  He's sick!" She grasped at him, only to be dragged along in his wake.  "He's been unconscious for almost three days!"

            "I don't give a f—" He stopped short at the entrance to the bedroom, momentarily stunned by the sight of Aoshi's helpless form.  She jumped at the chance and put herself between the two men.

            "Please, don't hurt him!  He never did anything, he's been so ill."  Her face hardened.  "If you want to blame anyone you should blame _her_!  She was the one who did this to him!"

            His gaze shifted to her with terrible concentration, making her instantly regret her words.  Paralyzed by fear, heart beating wildly in her chest, she could only stare as he turned towards her.  "_You_…do you know what you're _saying_?"  He loomed over her menacingly, his voice a harsh rasp against her tattered nerves.

            She forced herself to be calm, though her reply shuddered in her throat.  "Yes.  I won't let Makimachi Misao hurt him again.  I won't ever let him suffer like this again.  I love Aoshi."  The last ~ defiantly, daring him to contradict her.

            "You won't…_let…?"  His voice rang with irony, more effective than the loudest curse.  He eyed her with a bitter, mocking glare.  "Do they need __your permission to love?"_

            "She doesn't love him!  She doesn't know how to love!  He gave himself to her so completely—" her voice hitched, but her fervor carried her on, "and all she did was break his heart!  Do you call _that_ love?!  Well I don't!"  Her voice grew quiet with conviction, and she stared boldly at Sanosuke.  "From now on, _I'm going to take care of Aoshi, love him the way he's supposed to be loved.  I'm not going to let him suffer like this; I'm never going to break his heart.  He's going to feel adored, cared for, absolutely cherished.  Can you guarantee that Makimachi Misao would make him feel this way?"_

            "Shinomori Aoshi isn't a goddamned crystal statue."  Sanosuke looked at her evenly.  "He doesn't need you to lock him up in a velvet box.  Love isn't about making other people's decisions, no matter how much you think it would help them.  If you lock up the people you love you'll only destroy them in the end."  His voice deepened, his eyes darkening with emotion.  "You can't deprive the people you love of their freedom, not even when the choices they make are hurtful to themselves and to others.  Not even when _you hurt like hell to see them in pain.  If you truly love them, you would respect their decisions and the way they choose to live their lives.  And you'll be there to support them when they falter, to catch them when they fall, to give them strength to keep going. Even when the one they love is not you."_

            He turned around and started towards the door.  "What you want is not love.  It's possession."

            It was a long time before she noticed the wetness on her cheeks.

            _The first time he met her was in Okina's garden.  It was late afternoon, a glorious golden day when the sunlight gilded the wilderness of flowers around him, some as tall as he.  But he took no notice of their beauty and only shifted nervously as the sound of laughter drew near.  Only Okina's reassuring presence beside him gave him a solid sense of place, of knowing that he was here to stay and would never be homeless again.  But even Okina could not make him feel that he belonged._

Not in the way that_ they belong__.  He thought as the sources of the laughter ~ one high-pitched and girly, the other lower but just as mirthful ~ emerged around the corner of a garden path, tightly holding hands and running together towards Okina.  The boy with the spiky brown hair was grinning down at his companion, a wisp of a girl with a long braid.  Both were wearing uniforms identical to his, but in far worse condition ~ as if they had spent the better part of the day climbing trees and digging in the garden.  There were smudges of dirt on their cheeks, arms and legs; the boy's hair looked even more wild than he suspected it normally looked; a single daisy dangled lopsidedly from the girl's unkempt hair.  Okina made a sound of disgust as they ran towards him ~ that was nevertheless laced with an undercurrent of fond amusement._

_            Aoshi had never envied anyone more than he envied the two of them at that moment._

_            They halted abruptly when they saw the new arrival, standing back in polite greeting but unable to suppress the curiosity in their faces.  Aoshi suddenly felt awkward and made to draw away, but Okina's firm hand on his shoulder stopped him._

_            "Sano, Misao, I want to introduce your newest classmate to you."  He gave Aoshi a slight push forward.  "This is Shinomori Aoshi, and he'll be living here with us from now on."_

_            The two were silent for a moment, absorbing this new bit of information.  Aoshi could hear his heart pounding in his ears.  He closed his eyes and hardened himself for their rejection._

_            But it never came.  Instead he felt a small hand shyly taking his own and opened his eyes to see a friendly blue gaze in a delicate, heart-shaped face._

_            "Ne, Aoshi-niichan, do you want to play with us?"_

_            Relief flooded him in a warm, strong wave.  "Yes, I do."  And then he smiled ~ the slow, secret smile that he had hidden away for so long.  The girl's eyes widened, and then she was smiling back with all of her innocence shining in her face._

_            He swore he would protect her always._

            Aoshi stirred in his restless sleep, while Megumi watched anxiously by his side.  The fever was breaking, finally.  With gentle hands and a soft cloth she wiped away the sweat on his forehead and smoothed his hair away from his face.

            But the only name she heard him whisper was Misao's.

            When Sano returned to the apartment he found Misao already asleep in bed, her face pale and skin hot to the touch.  His brows creased in worry; he pulled the covers closer around her and soothingly stroked her cheek.  She did not respond.

            With a sigh he went back to the sofa ~ he was exhausted and needed to sleep if he was to take good care of her.  The thought of what Megumi could have said to her still weighed heavily on his mind, and it was with such troubles that he drifted off into a fitful slumber.

            In the other room, Misao opened heavy eyelids and slowly turned onto her side.  One hand brought itself up to reveal a square of white silk grasped tightly in her fingers.

            _I will wait for you, Makimachi Misao._

            But she had arrived too late.

            That night the fever broke.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I hope I've made Megumi a little less hateful!  What she did was wrong, I know, but hopefully now we have a better glimpse into her motivations.  

Thank you again for reading!  I am so grateful for your support.  More will come soon, I promise!


	20. Adjusted Relationships teaser

I'm not even sure if this qualifies as a teaser, but I wanted to give you *something* after this long wait.  Again ~ a million apologies for the dry period, but Life intruded, and I'm so sorry to have let you down.  As soon as I can, I will continue the story.  I cannot even begin to express the gratitude I feel at your patience and loyalty.  Thank you, thank you, thank you.  You are all my inspiration.  Mikomi.

**Chapter 3 ~ Adjusted Relationships**

They both recovered, eventually.  But though their bodies healed, neither was quite the same again.  Yet life, work, friends, family continue even in the absence of love, and the world spins on even without its previously brilliant colors.  So they hid their despair in the depths of their hearts and went back to the mundane routines of everyday life.

            If the casual observer never noticed the blankness in their souls, it was because they hid it very well, indeed.

            "Misao, are you sure you're up to this?"  Sano tried to keep the nagging note out of his voice, but it slid through anyway.  He watched warily as Misao, clad in her training uniform, practiced a few warm-up routines in the familiar forest clearing.  Just days ago she had still been prone in bed, and now she was insisting on "stretching her muscles" and getting back into shape.  Because Sano was powerless when she looked at him in a certain way, the girl had gotten her wish and he'd agreed to come training with her.  Now he wondered if he should start regretting his decision; she didn't look as if she was going to "just keep to the basics" like she'd promised.

            She flashed him a grin that seemed to echo a bit of her old spirit.  "Of course, Sano.  Stop grumbling and let me do my thing."  She tried a side kick; her leg flew out perfectly and her injured side ached only a little in protest.  Satisfied, she sprinted over and patted his arm reassuringly.  "See, almost like new."

            He gave in with a helpless smile, "All right girl, just be careful, okay?"  Despite his concerns for her physical condition, Sano was secretly glad that Misao was willing to come out and resume a little of her old habits.  The mental concentration and physical discipline required to perform her exercises would at least take her mind off more painful things.  She had been unnaturally quiet and reserved for the past few days, barely responsive to his presence.  When she did look at him, he had almost wished that she hadn't, for the emptiness that he saw in her eyes.  He had been truly afraid that the old Misao had disappeared forever.

            Now, as he watched her move slowly but surely through the basics, there was hope.  With a slow smile Sano left her on one side of the clearing and himself moved to the other, giving both of them the privacy to continue their practice.  The morning air was cool and fresh; for the first time in many days he felt a measure of peace and contentment in his heart.

            He was not surprised when he heard the clang of an unsheathing sword, knowing that Misao had brought the Chinese sword with her to practice some of the more unique moves that Okina had designed for her.  When they were young she had seen a Chinese martial arts film and been entranced by the sword-wielding female heroine, and afterwards had pestered Okina for days to teach her the heroine's technique.  So the old man had adapted some sword-fighting routines from Chinese sword arts manuals and taught them to his eager pupil.  Sano had never actually seen her practice with the Chinese sword; he knew that Misao preferred to practice sword arts with another, not he.  Suddenly curious, he slipped silently into the tree shadows and watched, enthralled.

            It _was_ beautiful.  Moving as one, sword and wielder flowed gracefully, fluidly, through each attitude, performing an elegant dance in the air and light.  A dance that appeared effortless in performance but required untold depths of strength and finesse, that was smooth as silk and deadly as steel.  His heart leapt when she sailed lithely into the air and spun swiftly and weightlessly; his breath caught abruptly when he saw a glimpse of her face through her unbound hair.  All at once, he understood what it was that made this dance so unspeakably lovely.

            _Sorrow_.  Wrenching, unbearable sorrow, too deep for words.  Because Misao could give no voice to her sorrow, she could only express it through movement, through the ageless steps of a dance that had empowered generations of strong women behind her.  She did not need to speak, here.  He could understand her perfectly already.

            What Sano never heard, or chose not to, was the sound of his own sorrow beating against his chest.


End file.
